


Daylight over Distant Horizons - Sequel to 'Princess of Dawn'

by Solrosfalt



Series: Princess of Dawn Trilogy [2]
Category: Fire Emblem Echoes: Mou Hitori no Eiyuu Ou | Fire Emblem Echoes: Shadows of Valentia
Genre: (it's Mila and Duma what else do I tag it), A Whole Lot of Weddings, Canon Divergencies for less Meta Sexism, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Est/Abel (Background), Established Minerva/Palla, Ezekiel/Tatiana (Background), F/F, Faye/Silque (Background), Healing from War Trauma, Jesse/Atlas (Background), Letter Correspondences, POV Multiple, Political Intrigue, Post-Shadow Dragon, Pre-New Mystery of the Emblem, Religious Conflict, hi i'm sol i write stories with minerva in them
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2020-10-04 20:10:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 26
Words: 114,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20476784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Solrosfalt/pseuds/Solrosfalt
Summary: Two years have passed since the Second Dragon War ended, and the entire continent of Archanea is still breathing heavily in its aftermath.Minerva carries a circlet of gold and a whole kingdom of troubles. She’s determined to patch the scarred Macedon together, but when pirates of a foreign continent hit Altea’s shores, her life takes yet another turn.





	1. Prologue - Cutting the Waves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The map shown above is a commissioned piece from @detectiveryanz on twitter!

Ocean winds were what made a sailor. Cowards and land crawlers could get a taste, wandering the shorelines, but after that, they’d return to the comfort of their solid earth. But the mad, the true, the hardened... They stood wide-legged and faced the untamed wrath of gods with toothy grins. Ocean winds didn’t bend, didn’t yield. Sailors had to be the same, or perish beneath the waves.

And now, those winds crashed against the bow of a ship, trying their damndest to sink her. But her bow splintered the waves into salty droplets around figureheads and foresails.

Invincible. Unstoppable.

And at the front of it was Greith. The howls of nature’s power clawed at his ears. The ocean’s fury tried to slow him, topple him, but here he remained.

This grand treasure of a ship sure _was_ something else. The important-looking shipyard the crew had stolen it from had hinted such, but this level of seamless speed... It cut the open ocean like a fine knife. It mastered previously uncharted waters, kept going where countless others had met their fate and now lay crushed on the dark bottom below.

It was a ship meant for a king. And if said king would have his way, this ship would never had carried him anywhere away from his comfortable castle. To a Zofian royal, this grand ocean beast was just a gift among millions, drowned in never-ending attention and entertainment.

The Earth Mother gave the king everything he could ever want, and his citizens could only comply to his birthright. Most were happy to, since the very same Earth Mother gave the citizens what was necessary for their full bellies and happy faces.

Grieth was a captain of a crew of thieves, murderers, and sailors (coincidentally, ‘_murderous_ _thieving_ _sailors’_ were the most common rats in his parade), and he was not happy with ‘_necessary’_. What fool would be? What fool would lean on a goddess for food, drink and peace of mind, when she played such favorites?

Grieth had never trusted the Earth Mother. While some had called him completely beyond his senses for such heresy, in the end, Grieth had been right. The faithful could twist and turn their words, but the truth remained – the goddess had stopped caring for her supposed children.

The drought had plagued Zofia for three years, more or less – it wasn’t as if anyone knew when to start counting. The crops had slowly withered, grain by grain. The majority of fields were still well enough for a few seasons more, and as long as people had food, no one cared to specify a date. But the fact remained that most harvests only yielded half of what they formerly did, and brought death and decay to otherwise flourishing villages.

And if the drought didn’t kill the common folks, well... Grieth gladly would.

What use did those pleading fools have of the food they hoarded? Like useless mice, they were. The weak cried about unfairness and tried to bargain, but the strong... The strong _survived_.

Nothing was better for a criminal than a kingdom’s collapse. The Zofian king’s children had all burned, years and years in the past, the king himself lay dead in the ground now, finally. Only a few weeks or so had passed, but already the soldiers of the royal army obeyed other masters. Not that it mattered, because neither master paid any mind to a pirate lord pillaging both shore and inland. And no soldier stood ready to stop that pirate lord and his crew from kicking down the iron gates to the king’s own shipyard. Usurpers didn’t care about boats, it seemed.

Everything had been Grieth’s for the taking. Everything, _everything_. But since that raid, he only had eyes for the ship that he now commanded.

‘_Pirate lord_’ was too puny a title. Soon, Grieth would be a Pirate King, and sooner than later, a Pirate _Emperor_. Zofia wasn’t enough to satisfy him anymore, and Rigel to the north was too much competition, with their hardy god and hardy soldiers. But what lay overseas, if not another whole continent of opportunity?

_Archanea_. _Grust. Khadein. Macedon._ Only the educated mind knew anything at all about those foreign lands, and the rest may think of them as mere legends. That the ocean to the west was nothing but endless waves and an early death.

Well, that was how it used to be. But now, with a ship that could match a sea serpent’s agility and strength, things were different.

Salt water sprayed over Grieth’s hair and short beard, his tattered cloak curled in the hard winds.

It may take them the whole summer to cross the sea, and the whole winter to move down the foreign coast from north to south, but Grieth was ready.

It was time for beyond shores to learn to tremble at the mention of his name.


	2. A Union Beneath Blue Skies

Trumpets, in Minerva’s opinion, could never really sound _beautiful_. Granted, Minerva wasn’t the most musically inclined; she never had much of her mind to spare for it. Whenever there was a demand for Minerva to make impressions, which was quite often for a queen, she let someone else handle the music choices.

Yet here, she would actually call trumpets the perfect choice. Sharp tones blasted their announcements at the skies, strong enough to overpower the murmur of the Altean crowd. Strong enough to keep the ominous-looking clouds at bay, too – or so Minerva hoped.

Maria shuffled awkwardly in place, her hands deep in her pockets. She wore a dress instead of her usual healer’s garb, but it was lightly colored and thus quite similar at first glance.

Maria refused to wear red and black and gold – something that set her in stark contrast to everything Macedonan royalty _should_ represent. Minerva was happy for her, though; she herself could barely leave her rooms without wearing any color other than those Maria refused.

Fine dress or no, Maria still had her healing staff over her back. Her neck bent as she watched the sky, shivering slightly in the cold.

“If it rains”, she mumbled, “do you think I could cast a ward to protect this whole square?”

Palla arched her neck as well. The braids that intricately crowned her head drooped a little. She’d let Maria practice her braiding skills, and even with several asymmetrical ends, she looked regal enough for all three of them.

“I think they have back-up plans”, Palla answered Maria. “Merric is right there, and he’d never let a storm ruin his best friend’s most important day, don’t you think?”

Palla had laughter in her voice. The kind that always snuck into her speech whenever she spoke to her sisters or Minerva - quiet, and honey-sweet.

“I mean, maybe”, Maria said and threw her gaze at the platform on the middle of the square. Merric stood in attention on one end of the platform, in a fine mage’s garb – a traditional Khadein attire that included a circular hat about as tall as he was – while Cain stood on the other end, wearing his usual armor.

Cain gave a discreet wave when he noticed Maria’s gaze his way, and Maria waved awkwardly back, then looked at the clouds again.

“I’d like to be of use, you know”, Maria added. “It’s been ages since we saw them, and now it’s their _wedding_? It feels like I should help them, somehow.”

“You weren’t this up in your gears at _my _wedding”, Est remarked, tilting her head to look at her from beside Palla. “And besides, wasn’t fighting a _war_ for them enough? You think you gotta help them make pastries, too?”

Maria only shrugged. Minerva put a hand on her shoulder, gave her the best calming smile she could offer.

“You needn’t be so tense”, Minerva told her. “Marth and Caeda will have thought of everything.”

“Says the one who packs _five _throwing axes”, Maria shot back, and Minerva couldn’t help the hand that moved to her belt to confirm that her weapons were in place.

“Ohh, she _got _you”, Est whistled, then shrunk back, only so slightly. “I mean, it’s all right if I say that, right? You’re not my commanding officer anymore, and all that.”

Minerva caught Palla rolling her eyes, if only for a moment, and she chuckled.

“When has my title ever stopped you, Est?”

“Fair enough”, Est said as she straightened, and her gleeful smile returned. “I figured it’d be polite to ask _once_ in a lifetime, at least.”

Minerva’s only answer was a lighthearted scoff, but perhaps it turned into more of a painful grimace, seeing as Maria turned her full attention to her.

“Is your leg bothering you?” she leaned in to whisper, as she got on her tiptoes to read Minerva’s face better.

It might have, but Minerva was so used to the small stabs of pain whenever she moved too suddenly, she honestly hadn’t noticed. Which was what Minerva had intended to tell her, but then the trumpets gained in intensity, so all she did was shake her head as she turned her eyes back to the platform in the center of the square.

A wondrous harmony hit into her like a gust of wind, and Minerva could finally place why she liked the sound so much. It was that of home.

If Minerva walked out on her balcony back in her castle, she’d catch the distant echo of horns. Every day, low, quiet hums would reach all the way to the capital, as sky-borne and earthbound workers communicated with each other in the mountains.

Trumpets weren’t that different.

The harmony rippled through the crowd. Minerva heard sharp inhales and shuffles from all around her as Caeda made her first appearance. People almost climbed on top of each other in their eagerness.

Minerva’s rather unique height spared her from having to fight for her chance to see the Talysian princess, she had a perfect view of Caeda before she stepped out on the platform for all to see.

She looked so comfortable, in the center of attention. Minerva couldn’t see her face, but she was sure she smiled wide enough to melt the sun. The wood beneath Caeda’s delicate armored boots was decorated with thousands of ribbons, the flowers and greenery surrounded her like a crown that the nature itself had bestowed upon her.

Though it was not as much _nature’s_ work as it was the precision and skill from tailors and gardeners and event planners from all over the world. Est, now with Altea as her permanent home, had happily told Minerva and her sisters multiple times that the platform had taken three months to perfect, and the stunning arcs braided with flowers and lush vines above the square had taken three _more_ months.

Despite the size of the impressive woodwork, Princess Caeda didn’t look any smaller. She towered above most of those who came behind her, her _Companions of Honor_. Talysian tradition dictated to have the couple’s most trusted friends present at the wedding, dressed in a similar fashion to the bride and groom. Their purpose was to guard from any curses, bad omens or ill will. And Caeda couldn’t possibly have chosen better Companions.

Catria, her hair braided by Maria after she’d practiced enough on Palla, walked right behind Caeda. Next in line was Elice, without the diadem of a queen. A simple tiara adorned her hair; she was there as a friend and sister, not as royalty. Though right behind her was Abel, and he hadn’t been able to abandon his former role as easily. His hand rested on his sword and his eyes scanned the crowds – he was clearly taking his duty of knightly protection seriously, retired or not.

They made for quite a spectacle. Flower crowns rested on all of their heads, and blue ribbons were tied over their glittering white armor, though they paled in comparison to Caeda. As the progression halted and Caeda let the wind tear at her freely, her deep blue dress looked just like a piece of midnight sky, torn down from above. Still alive and filled with the depth and secrets otherwise known only to the stars. Flowers from both Talys and Altea decorated Caeda’s braided crown – an Altean tradition, Maria had told Minerva, to have local flowers adorn and represent both of the newlyweds.

“She looks so happy”, Palla whispered from behind her. Minerva, despite her many sleepless nights, felt herself smile a little.

“Who cares about Caeda”, Est joked with a nudge in Minerva’s side. “That’s my husband, up there!”

She pointed at Abel, whose eyes slid down to their little group – on _Est_, specifically – and he granted them a professional, but genuine, smile.

Est sighed wistfully. “Aw, I wish our wedding could’ve been this pompous.”

“I thought you said your wedding was perfect?” Palla still kept the ever-present laughter in her voice, but there was a frown in there, too. Minerva could tell.

“Oh, yeah, I mean it _was_, but... What’s the harm of having _another_ perfect wedding?”

Maria laughed, taking her eyes off Caeda. “What’s the harm in having another reason to show off your husband in his finest attire, and you _kissing_ him in said attire, you mean?”

“Hey, if you don’t brag, you’re not really proud.”

“Est, that’s a bit—“

“_Schh_, Palla”, Est interrupted with a hiss. “_Marth’s_ coming!”

Minerva’s attention snapped back to the center of the square. Est was right – to the wild cheers of the crowd, Marth ascended the stairs to the platform. _He_, unlike Caeda, looked small among the giant blossoms and ribbons of the platform, but he radiated greatness, still. He had that sort of impression; _unassuming_, but easy to trust, easy to like. He had claimed many titles in the last decade - the prince of Altea, the Champion of Archanea, the saviour of the known world – and yet he remained the same, even after peace had settled. He walked with the same slight spring in his step as usual – and it was obvious that the music wanted him to go slowly.

The trumpet players sped up, with distressed looks back down the stairs, and one of Marth’s Companions of Honor, her hair a striking violet, carefully pulled at his white cloak to get him to slow down. She wasn’t the least successful. To the lively cheers of his people and the hundreds of visitors from all other corners of the continent, Marth rounded the turn of the platform, and came into full sight.

The square rumbled with the stomping of feet, but Minerva was content with just clapping her hands and giving him one of her smiles. Not that Marth paid any attention to that, or _any_ of what happened on the ground below.

His eyes darted over the crowd once, with a wide grin on his face, but after that, his gaze settled on Caeda. And it never moved. Except when he had to dry his eyes.

The crowd let out a collective ‘_aww’_ at his weeping, and Minerva was certain he would stumble over the last few steps, but one of his own Companions of Honor quickly took him by the arm and kept him straight.

Minerva didn’t recognize any of Marth’s companions – they were fresh recruits, all of them, and Minerva had never been introduced. That was strange to her, in a way. As a traitor princess, huddled together with a band of misfits and rebels, she’d had reason to know every face that was close to the champion of hope. A Queen in a distant edge of the draconic island, on the other hand, had no reason to. The lives of her friends kept going, and she wasn’t really a part of it, busy in her own little corner of the world.

Marth had reached Caeda, and when he took her hand, the crowd fell into a respectful – but no less suspenseful – silence as the ritual began.

Caeda’s voice rang clearly with the vows, while Marth’s was still thick with tears. The attempt at silence over the square was broken by sobs and more ‘_aww_’s from the crowd, even as the event masters tried to hush them.

Minerva only heard half of the vows because of it, but the message came across clearly enough. She merely had to look at the couple to understand every word they exchanged.

Caeda placed her hand on Marth’s’ cheek, dried his tears with her thumb, and leaned in to kiss him – andn that was when the event masters gave up on their attempts at controlling the volume of the crowd.

The entire square turned into a storm of well-wishes and cheers and flowers and ribbons thrown up into the air.

Est, loud as ever, whistled through her fingers, laughed and caught Maria in a hug, unable to contain her excitement.

The whirl of movement nearly bumped into Minerva, and Palla stepped out of the way with a laugh. Her back slid over Minerva’s arm, and she stayed there, shielded from the crowd and the pretty adornments they threw. Or perhaps Palla meant to shield Minerva. The details of her placement weren’t important – she was there, and her back was warm.

The platform wasn’t half as interesting to Minerva, all of a sudden. With the flower rain, Minerva didn’t care if she was rude and looked away; it wasn’t as though anyone could see her if she did. She glanced to the side, and her heart skipped a beat.

The ribbons fell like heavy snow. Bright colors covered most of the world around them, but Palla was completely visible. There were only the two of them, alone in a festive blizzard.

Palla’s eyes sparked of light, her smile wide and unabashed as she brought her hand to the base of her throat. She still kept her professional stance, but her eyes glittered all the same, and nothing could compare.

Two ribbons sailed down and settled in Palla’s hair, and Minerva laughed and brushed with her fingers to carefully remove them without ruining the braids. Palla began to turn her face toward her, a flush covering her cheeks—

And the glittering in Palla’s eyes died away within the space of a breath.

“Minerva, get down!” Palla’s arm lashed out to push Minerva back, in the same movement as she pulled out her sword.

Minerva, completely jolted out of her smiling trance, did the exact opposite of Palla’s order. She pulled a throwing axe out of her belt and stretched her neck to see through the haze.

The cheers had been replaced by screams of terror, and there was no sure way for Minerva to sense if the crowd on the square was trying to run away or trying to fight whatever threat they faced – it was flurry, chaos, and in the center of it, something burned.

Marth was crumpled on all fours, supporting himself while also hugging his hand to his chest. Given the rest of the scene, he’d been tackled to the ground by a blue-haired Companion of Honor that Minerva didn’t recognize – whose glittering white cape was on fire.

And behind that burning cape, one of Marth’s companions struggled against the hold of the other three. It was the same purple-haired one that had tried to get Marth to slow down in his progression – a girl that couldn’t be older than fourteen – but the air about her was completely different. Despite the arms that held her, the girl ducked away from Catria’s lance, clearly no stranger to fighting. She was strong, and nimble – she managed to pull her arm free, and aimed another bolt of fire toward Marth.

Merric choked the flames before they reached their target, but the crackle of magic was enough to cause even more chaos, both above and below.

Minerva was useless down on the ground. If she threw an axe, she risked hitting anyone but the attempted assassinator, and she’d be slowing down the soldiers that already rushed up the stairs to assist them if she tried to run. In this, she was just another frightened spectator.

White, hot light burned ribbons and wood. Elice had released her full power, and it flung the assassin all the way into the sea behind the city. Spreading her arms out to cover her brother, Elice shone like a furious star.

Caeda would have glowed the same way, if she’d had the aptitude for magic – her actions were calculated and even as she pulled Marth from the floorboards and shuffled him toward the stairs.

She knew assassins rarely worked alone. _Everyone_ knew. Minerva’s eyes darted over the crowd, the rooftops – trying to spot anything abnormal. It was a waiting game, impossible to win.

Caeda did not let Marth rise, instead she almost dragged him toward the stairs, and that might have been what saved his life. Had she forced him to stand up, the arrow that penetrated Caeda’s shoulder would have gone clean through Marth’s head.

Minerva didn’t think. She flung her throwing axe in the direction of the arrow, without aim or hesitation. She knew full well how to read an archer’s position from a single projectile, and it was only afterwards that she saw her axe dig in through a lump of straw on one of the rooftops. Minerva couldn’t hear over the chaos if the target cried out in pain, but no more arrows flew.

She drew a second axe, didn’t move her gaze. If a tip of steel showed itself through the hay, Minerva would make sure to strike first.

In the edges of her vision, the platform still towered above her. And through the noise of thousands of feet and voices, Minerva still heard Cain cry out for Maria. He’d stretched down, helped her climb up on the side to bypass the stairs. And Maria climbed with the confidence of a battlemage, with her healing staff still tied neatly over her back.

The remaining Companions of Honor had huddled completely around the newlyweds, shielding them from any further attacks, but they didn’t hide them completely from sight.

In the center of the square, Caeda lay cradled in Marth’s arms. He was still crying, but tears of a different, more desperate nature.

\---

They’d waited for the cover of the flower rain.

Minerva rested her arms on her ship’s railing, her eyes set on nothing but darkness.

The assassins had _waited_ for the flower rain, they’d _known_, they’d even been part of the inner circle, the most trusted. Elice had once or twice joked about how Marth’s death would be caused by his trusting heart, but this had been so close. So unexpected.

Had it been a battlefield, every action would’ve been so much simpler to figure out. And since that was what Minerva was used to, it was how her mind painted the square for her now, again and again, as she waited. She tried to have every angle fully explored, but it was impossible with all the gaps - she knew far too little of the wedding plans and the personalities of Marth's new knights, and it frustrated her to no end.

All wayward wedding guests had been asked to kindly go home – the feast that had been planned to go on for the entire night was withdrawn, for obvious reasons. But Minerva couldn’t leave, not without the rest of her family. Palla stood with her back toward the railing, restlessly drumming her fingers against the wood, but apart from that, Minerva was alone.

Catria and Maria had disappeared with Caeda and Marth to the royal healer suite, and Est had insisted she stay to show them the way back to the docks, although her being joined at the hip with Abel was a more probable motivation for running into the castle.

Minerva’s left leg buzzed. She’d been standing still for too long, and she stepped carefully from side to side to try and lessen the pain. Two years since it had been crushed to bits beneath a wyvern, and time had done much good, but not _enough _good. She could endure it, especially as her mind ached worse.

In the dark of the dock, her thoughts kept darting to every corner, constructing the image of the square like a puzzle. And yet the same burning questions remained.

_Who? Why? _

Marth and Caeda may be two of the most admired and beloved people in the world, but they had enemies, still. It didn’t make sense though, the way the assassins had struck. Politics hid behind smiles and reason, and there was none more suspicious than the other.

The kingdom of Grust was suppressed tightly underneath the heel of Archanea since their devastating loss, and perhaps they blamed Marth for that. Though their current regent, Lorenz, loved Marth openly and unapologetically. Called him "son" more often than his name. In the world of nobles, anyone could be a pretender, Minerva knew that well enough, but he really didn’t strike her as dishonest.

Doluna, then? Had the remaining, scattered dragons awoken to the call of a new master? Minerva pushed the option away as soon as it appeared. For fear of it being true, she realized; but also because she’d sworn to the rest of her royal friends that her Macedonan scouts kept their watchful eye on the borders. She couldn’t doubt them.

The island of Gra had betrayed the Alteans before, but they had no military to speak of, so why risk another loss?

None of the political options were logical, but Minerva knew something didn't have to make sense for people to start pointing fingers, and her heart chilled with the following speculation.

_Macedon_...? Would _she_ be blamed for this?

The thought made her nauseous. She had to go back. She couldn’t stay here. She had to go _home_.

Palla straightened with a sudden inhale, her neck turned so she too watched the docks. Minerva followed her example, and narrowed her eyes.

Three shadows moved toward them, and though shrouded in darkness, Minerva recognized them.

Catria had her arm slung over Est, and Maria was holding her hand. Catria was no longer dressed in her sparkling white armor; she wore her usual attire of light chainmail and red-and-silver tinted armor plates. Yet the flower crown was still in her hair. Like she’d forgotten about it.

The empty stare in her eyes pressed at Minerva from all sides, and her body went cold. Did this mean that Caeda—?

"She's fine", Maria said as her greeting, sensing the question. "Nothing vital was hit on Caeda’s part, and Marth was only slightly burnt. They’re resting, told us to return home so we’re not caught in any messy aftermaths."

Catria seemed no calmer. Her eyes gleamed, and Est patted her on the shoulder.

"Come now, sis”, Est whispered. “You try so hard not to cry in front of Caeda, and _now_ you can't keep it in?"

Catria didn’t answer. In Palla’s presence, as she carefully reached her arms out in the offer of an embrace, Catria seemed so small. She staggered into Palla’s arms like a child, and sniffled into her neck.

"Sorry", Catria hulked, but Palla only hugged her tighter. Minerva did what she could, and put a hand on her back.

"I thought I'd lose her", Catria continued, racked by her sobs. "Now—after EVERYTHING! _Damnit _Palla, I’m a terrible guard, how do you do this every day – _damn—it—_"

The question rang with of sorrow in Minerva’s mind, and her chest ached. Catria was not new to guarding someone’s life, but it was different when the protected was someone beloved and dear. It was no secret to those who knew Catria with whom her heart still remained.

Palla did her duty with ease, despite her and Minerva’s closeness, but it couldn’t be as simple as Palla made it seem. Outside of war, Palla’s protection could not reach far enough – every day, Palla failed to defend Minerva from the horrors of court life. And failure hurts.

“You’re not a terrible guard”, Palla whispered. She didn’t answer Catria’s question further, only stroked her back.

Catria’s response was shrouded in sniffles into Palla's neck, before she pushed herself away. She kept her head bowed for a moment, before she looked up at Minerva. Her face gleamed in the lanternlight, like a ghastly shadow of her usual composed self.

“Commander”, she said with a shaky voice. “Can we go home, now?”


	3. Between Crimson Walls

Castle Macedon was unique in many ways, the most prominent quality being its towering height. Minerva hadn’t reflected on that in her youth – she might have literally been born above the clouds, depending on weather, and she grew up with the ground at a distance.

Twenty-six years later, she was forced to step back and admit the strangeness of it given how half her home was connected by hundreds of stairs, and thus inaccessible for anyone with old injuries still restricting their ability to move. Which included Minerva, and many, many others.

Peace may have settled over them, but the war still haunted her kingdom. Lesser nobles, knights, sailors, fletchers and kitchen maids; all sent to the front lines and returned with chronic pains and missing limbs. It was incredibly frustrating to navigate the never-ending stairs, Minerva knew it firsthand. She’d welcomed any and all suggestions for systems that could bypass those hardships and make the entire castle more accessible, but she couldn’t yet begin any actual plans on the matter. The rest of Macedon still needed roads, walls, educational halls, food storages – it wouldn’t look good if she backed down on those promises by focusing their precious resources on her own home.

So, as her current solution, Minerva usually chose to avoid the towers entirely.

But not today. She’d traversed about three-quarters of the northwestern tower, every painstaking step of stairs alleviated by Palla’s supporting hand, just so she could meet her temporary retainer in the privacy of the main scholar’s chamber.

It was definitely worth it, she knew it was. The throne room had eyes and ears in every direction, the council board was too official, and Minerva’s own chamber too informal. Appearances had to be retained, at all costs – that, at least, Minerva had learned as soon as the crown was hers.

The scholars’ chamber had a window where Dolunan mountaintops could be spotted in the far off distance, and Minerva’s eyes darted toward it as she and Palla entered. With the image of Marth’s cape burning and Caeda’s blood darkening her dress so fresh in her memory, she couldn’t let go of the sensation of the border of Doluna staring at her.

Her distraction might have been noted by the scholar in the room, but she was met by a wide smile regardless.

“Welcome back, your majesty!” Ylina greeted her, with her pockets overflowing with quills and ink on her cheek. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, let me tell you!”

Minerva gave her a slow nod in return, and a small smile of her own. “I’m relieved to return, and to such a well-kept kingdom, no less. Entrusting this task to you was the right desicion to make, clearly.”

Ylina’s cheeks flushed, and she waved her hand over the mountain of parchments on the desk behind her.

“Thank you kindly, but it is just new patches over old patches and glue and—that metaphor made more sense in my head.” She paused, and glanced out the window. Maybe she too could sense the creeping cold that radiated from the Dolunan mountains. “...I suppose nothing has crashed and burned _yet_”, Ylina added. “But... Word travels fast with flying mercenaries about, and if rumors are to be trusted, something inevitably _will_ crash and burn. An assassination attempt is really the _last _thing we need on the political agenda. The general climate here was bad enough in your absence, your majesty, and now I bet people will grow restless. With or without you.”

Minerva closed her eyes for a moment. Macedon was vulnerable, a glass sculpture she patiently tried to repair. But with every slight vibration of the table, newly returned pieces fell off and shattered even more.

“You were there”, Ylina continued, her tone of voice serious and professional, but her fingers nervously fiddling with a quill. “Are the rumors... true?”

“They certainly are.” Minerva saw no sense in withholding it, no matter how much she wanted it to be laid to rest and forgotten. “Thanks to capable guards and luck, an _attempt_ was all there was. Though I would think we’re no closer to knowing who was behind the affair. What have been brought to you during my week at sea, Ylina?”

Ylina pointed in the vague direction of the window. “Honestly, all I could think of doing was what I _believed _you would do, which was send five entire scouting teams to Doluna to search for suspicious movements, to cover our backs.”

Minerva’s smile grew, and Palla tilted her head with a smile of her own.

“That is precisely what I would have done”, Minerva said. “Any of them returned, yet?”

“Three”, Ylina answered, after a quick sorting through her papers. “And they’ve got nothing to report – neither dragons nor people around. On another end, the council nobles grilled me alive with demands to investigate underground activity in Macedon, so I released a few forms allowing for following up on civilian reports by the senior knights. No bite there either.”

“There isn’t much else to do than wait, then”, Palla said.

Hearing her voice on any royal matter was rare – _too _rare in Minerva’s opinion – but Ylina was a well-known face and a respected friend. Where nobles would frown or snarl Palla into silence, Ylina nodded and looked her in the eye.

“Plenty to do in the meantime, that I promise you”, was Ylina’s answer to that, and she arched an open palm over her desk. “I tried to have everything sorted for when mom—I mean, the High Scholar—returns for her position, but the mess literally cannot be helped. In case she comments on it, I mean.”

A slight ache hummed at the base of Minerva’s chest. There were plenty of people who served her who she could trust, but only a precious few that she actually _did_ rely on. Former war companions, all of them. She was still a general at heart.

“There will always be room for you here in the capital”, Minerva said, but Ylina only shook her head. Her hair latched onto her cheeks as she did, and surprise surfaced in her eyes. Three years in the past Ylina had never let her hair grow longer than to her ears, but she’d yielded to current fashion and let it reach to her shoulders with a shorter length in the back of the neck. A style that was popular regardless of gender, nowadays. Because that was how the Queen kept hers.

Minerva still wasn’t used to it, and she doubted she ever would be.

“I can’t abandon Gimonsplit, your majesty.” Ylina brushed her hair out of her face with an apologetic smile. “Can’t focus every resource to the capital. That’s scholar-established! No getting around it.”

“There’s _also_ the irresistible countryside air”, Palla added in a lighthearted tone.

Ylina grinned. “No use in trying to hide my true intentions, I see. Well, you know me. Ylinas and big cities don’t mix well. _But_, should you need me to act as retainer again, don’t hesitate to call me.”

\---

Minerva had learned to look focused during royal councils, regardless of any tumultuous thoughts that might try to distract her. The trick was to look at the base of the speaker’s nose or their eyebrows, and to wear an important-looking frown whenever their tone of voice indicated it was necessary. During her first few months, Minerva had tried to fake her focus by staring them right in the eye and not yielding an inch. Catria had whispered to her during a short recess that most nobles shrunk back like cornered mice, and no one would ever dare speak their mind if she kept glaring at them.

She’d gotten better at it, evidently, since the councillors did nothing _but _speak their mind, now. Whenever Minerva voiced a concern, they all had something to say about it. It was their duty, Minerva knew, but there were very few of them that she liked hearing from. Five of them had been quick to judge Minerva’s demand to have Catria with them during a third of the councils, and those and one other had repeatedly asked for Minerva to stop her lifeguard from interacting with ‘_matters she knows nothing about_’. Which was everything even _slightly_ adjacent to governing; including concerns for Minerva’s safety. And that was, and had always been, Palla’s field of absolute expertise - although not recognized as such in their eyes.

Minerva _really _didn’t like having those nobles around, but there was nothing she could do to avoid them without causing an uproar. A majority of them agreed that common knights shouldn’t have any influence - '_kingdom governance was noble business, and noble business only, or it wouldn't be a kingdom_'. There were only so many traditions Minerva could break in the span of a few years before it all snapped back and slapped her in the face. 

The nobles' complaints had quieted down after two years, but that didn’t mean those nobles and some of their personal staff let Palla off easy. And thus, during councils and meetings or events, Palla was silent. They liked her much better when she was, after all.

Though Minerva could barely stand it.

She’d been back in Macedon for two weeks already, but time moved so slowly when no progress was made. The matter of Marth and Caeda being a target was too important to let go of, and all other matters piled up in the background of it. Day out and day in, she’d spent with her arms resting over the circular councillor table, and this day was no different from the rest.

“The unification of Talys and Altea will proceed”, the councillor of international affairs stated—he was one of the few that didn’t complain about either Catria or Palla, which earned him some of Minerva’s good graces. “That’s official, now. Though neither the Prince nor Princess will risk showing themselves in public for a long while. All our contact with Altea runs through Queen Elice, and with Talys, through King Mostyn. Both of them have increased the bounties on any who can provide with any information about the assassins, and it would be _useful_ to say the least if we could add something after weeks of search. Twenty thousand gold would be a welcome addition to our treasury, as I’m sure you all agree.”

“Dangling carrots over a dead pegasus still won’t make it fly”, the councillor of security said with a glare—she was one of the complainers, and Minerva’s felt her own gaze darken when she looked toward her. “While it’s true that the assassin Katarina had a mark that connected her to a group of bandits in western Macedon, when she was recruited into Prince Marth’s battalion one year ago, she claimed to have been born on the Pyrathi Islands, which means she’s not registered to any kingdom. And while she’d also apparently claimed to have gotten her magical education in Khadein, our jurisdiction don’t reach that far. There are too many connections to chase. Most likely, none of these things are true, and only designed to keep us in the dark. Additionally, these kinds of long-game, methodic assassins aren’t stupid. ‘Katarina’ can’t be her true name. I don’t think I can make myself much clearer, esteemed councillors. We’ve been digging so deep into the Macedonan bandits she’d supposedly have connections to, we will fall into the hole and never get back up.”

“The amount of colorful proverbs is appreciated”, the treasurer said with a hint of sarcasm—yet another of the complainers that Minerva wasn’t fond of. “But we have far too much to win to simply give up. The arrow that was shot was of Grustian design, correct? Then we should look into any Macedonans that have been in contact with _both_ Grust and the marked bandits!”

“The promise of gold blinds you”, the councillor of security retorted. “You think my task is simple? You think my people haven’t already run across the kingdom until their feet bleed? Chased every single lead we have? The truth is that the Altean prince was a fool to let such a suspicious person in with his closest knights to begin with!”

Minerva held her breath. That was another trick she’d learned, to keep herself from snapping at inappropriate times. But she couldn’t help a glance at Catria, who sat across her, and noticed how red her cheeks were.

“My students won’t give up”, Catria was quick to say. “They want to make themselves useful, and learn to track from above – us instructors will make sure they don’t do anything inappropriate, but we won’t give _up_.”

From behind Minerva, Palla drew a sharp breath. This was more personal to Catria than anyone else in the room, and letting that show would make the nobles think less of her. They tolerated her now, because she merely attended a few councils, but there still wasn’t much space for her to navigate.

“Feel free to throw resources uselessly down the drain, Head Instructor”, the Councillor of Security said airily. “Though I’m not sure the Knight Academy has patience for your antics in the long run. Your majesty, if I may—”

Minerva’s eyes narrowed. She expected some kind of remark about Catria; it certainly wouldn’t be out of place for her.

“—I’d like to stop the scouting of Doluna. It’s a waste. I know that it’s one of the only places it makes sense for these assassins to hide, but I’d rather think they both drowned in the ocean. It’s been _three_ weeks, and I can tell you my scouts aren’t happy about poking their spears down into the sleeping bear for much longer, lest it wakes. If you catch my meaning.”

Minerva drew a deep breath through her nose, clasped her hands and rested them on the table. “I do, councillor Ida. But our position remains the same. The rest of the continent looks to us for the responsibility of keeping Doluna both at a distance and under control – your scouts may not have much chance of finding anything, but by continuing the search and not giving up too soon, we save face.”

_I can go myself_, she wanted to add. _Please, just let me take my Whitewings and scout the wilderness. Anything but another day of THIS. _

But she kept silent. And councillor Ida did, too.

“Now, speaking of saving face”, general Rucke said as he leaned over the table. “There are far more effective ways to do so, if you’d all have the grace to listen.”

Rucke, for some unexplainable reason, was not cause for any complaints from the nobles. He’d been nothing but an ordinary captain under Michalis rule, before he abandoned the old king to make room for Minerva. And for that, Minerva had awarded him the title of Second General, seeing as both Palla and Catria had refused it.

Perhaps it was a natural charm of his, to always stroke people along the hairs. Perhaps it was due to him fully embracing mansion and privileges, and perhaps he’d mentioned that his second cousin was some highborn in eastern Macedon. Either way, he was well-liked by every single noble, and Minerva had to admit he was useful to her, though sometimes _too_ eager to please.

“I take your silence as a yes”, Rucke said with a crooked smile. “See, when it comes to our criminal statistics, our rates of execution have decreased over the last years, and I’m afraid it might make Macedon as a whole look... lax. If we’re so accepting of criminals and bandits, will other kingdoms think of us as a viable ground for seeds of rebellion to grow? Say... Assassins targeting the Champion of Hope?”

“That’s ridiculous”, Catria said, her cheeks pale.

“Is it?” Rucke kept his smile, and looked to Minerva. “Your Majesty, you do see my point, do you not?”

“I fail to see how dungeons don’t send enough of a message”, Minerva said sharply. “We don’t kill those who yield. I decreed that thirteen months ago, lest you forget.”

“Yes, yes”, Rucke nodded. “And it’s admirable, trust me. Maybe you misunderstand me; I don’t suggest we execute a bunch of random criminals on a whim, no; I’d like to expand upon the theme of the Head Instructor’s _students_.”

Catria straightened her neck. There was never any fear in her eyes, not even when nobles who despised her dug their gazes into her.

“What about them?”

“Your Majesty”, Rucke said, ignoring Catria. “I refer to the defiant acts from those knight juniors a month ago. Their provocation was a direct action against the crown, and I suggest you treat it as such.”

Catria glared at him. “I speak for the Academy”, she snarled. “And every single Instructor agreed to _expel _those rascals, and that there was no need for anyone else to get involved because it’s an _academy matter_, yeah?”

Rucke glared into the table, and Minerva realized he wouldn’t answer her. By everything Divine, Minerva was so sick of this. She wished for direct actions, not this tip-toeing and these passive-aggressive jabs.

_Michalis was the same_, she reminded herself._ And he changed his court to suit him. Through any means necessary._

She felt a bit ill at the thought. She’d never follow his example. Ever. She could get used to this. She could be patient and considerate.

“Instructor Catria is right”, Minerva agreed, hoping she could kill the conversation with that.

She didn’t care about a small group of teenagers painting ‘_The Queen is WEAK_ ‘on the back-doors to the knight academy. It was the right call to not recruit them into her diminishing military, that was for certain, but it didn’t require the attention of the _council_.

She glanced down on their agenda. They’d addressed merely half of the subjects, and the sun was setting already. Right then, Minerva only longed for the soft embrace of a dune pillow—

“If such obscenities go unpunished, what message does that send?” Rucke insisted.

“Did ya’ not hear?” Catria clenched her teeth, and cleared her throat, forcing her accent down. “We _expelled _them, is that not punishment enough—?”

“No, it isn’t.” Rucke gave her a cold eye. “It’s too quiet. I can personally see to it that no one ever gets the same idea. A few lashes on a public square, and the grand crowd should have no second thoughts of crossing the crown.”

_Lashes?_

Minerva’s insides turned to ice, breath halted in her chest.

_Lashes? _Her fingers felt numb, as if they were digging themselves into wood, softened by the people before her.

Thousands of hands had been grappling the same pole for dear life. Thousands of arms had been curled in a futile attempt at protection. Thousands had been forced to stand as the Dolunan manakete let their whips fly.

Thousands, and among them, Minerva was one.

Palla’s hand trembled as she placed it on the back of Minerva’s chair. To keep Minerva from rising up and hurling the table over them. To stop _herself_ from doing the same, no doubt.

Catria’s face was flushed red in fury. The tired air in the room turned tenser with each moment of silence.

Minerva should speak, but the waves of nausea washed over her and didn’t stop. Minerva forced herself to put her clasped, numb hands on the table and turn her head in Rucke’s direction.

She gave him her best indifferent glare.

“That kind of punishment will never be held in the name of my crown”, she stated. The mask of the Dragoon didn’t fail her; she sounded _bored_, despite the fires of pain that burned both on behalf of herself and the many, many others she’d have to witness—

“Your majesty”, Rucke continued, either incapable of reading the room or blatantly ignoring it. “I’m speaking of _proven_ methods. Their loyalty to you will not be easily swayed after such a performance.”

A quill snapped – Rivan, the First General, had been sitting with his notes, and after Rucke’s first bold suggestion, he’d frozen with the quill raised and his mouth open. And now, he’d closed his fist so suddenly, he’d crushed it.

And just like the quill, Minerva snapped as well. She _burned_. She could keep her old hatred behind dams built from wishes of being a good enough queen for her people, but all those dams collapsed. The flames spread to her gaze.

She was not patient. She was not considerate.

And her no was final. She drilled her eyes into Rucke’s, and bared her teeth.

“Did you not _hear_ me, _general_?”

She spoke with promise of death. She may have left her axe Hauteclere leaning on the wall as a show of good faith, but the ancient, bloodthirsty whispers of her weapon was so familiar to her, she knew how to repeat it. She knew how to spread terror. 

Rucke jerked back, his eyes swaying back and forth. He’d shut up, finally.

Minerva rarely burned, she _knew _that such displays and threats wouldn’t win her the respect she needed, the respect she wanted...

And yet. If Rucke did so much as whisper another word about it, she’d split his head open.

Did he not know about her history on the very thing he suggested? Or did he, and had wanted to provoke her? Maybe he’d truly thought she’d agree, simply because she herself was safe from the threat of a whip.

_Their loyalty to you will not be swayed_.

Loyalty derived from fear was the very thing she’d fought to eradicate from this kingdom. Such iron fists were born from the cruelty of war, and couldn’t possibly be upheld in a time of peace. She didn’t _ever_ want them. Methods formed from darkened hearts, from Doluna’s cruel poison. It was _not_ to be a part of her Macedon.

And the nobles that she hadn’t hand-picked looked just as surprised every time she reminded them of it.

She got a metallic taste in her mouth. She swallowed, then proceeded to calmly reach for a spare quill, thrown over her father’s old desk. She tossed it to Rivan, before she lifted her own, ink dripping over the agenda.

“Let’s go on, shall we?” she said, doing her best to sound both inviting and final. “I think we’ve said enough regarding the assassins. There’s still the matter of the Pegasus-herders’ supply wagons being raided...”

\---

There was a room on the castle ground floor that had originally been designed to hold a humble amount of guests, with a fireplace, southward windows with tinted glass, soft chairs and board game tables.

A long time ago, now. Minerva had found it empty once she returned from the war – Michalis had stripped the entire castle of everything that had made it a home, and the bare, red walls didn’t surprise her anymore.

She did what she could to make it hers. She had no wish to make the halls extravagant, or luxorious – she sought something _liveable_. And this room was perfect as a dining hall. Not too big, like the great hall she’d eaten her meals when she was young, but enough for four or five people of average Macedonan size. It was close to the kitchen, too, so it wasn’t a hassle for the staff that her dining space had moved.

Minerva wasn’t sure why she sought the small spaces. The open skies, the vast wilderness – that was where her heart had always pulled her before.

A lot could change in two years. Evidently.

“Another bad day, I take it?” Maria looked up at her from beneath her eyelids. She looked hollowed out, though no more than usual. Minerva could often spare her from attending councils, but as the first in line to the throne if anything happened to Minerva, the nobles sometimes hinted at her presence being necessary.

Maybe they planned to sweep Minerva out of the way and make room for a younger, more easily manipulated target. Maybe they didn’t, but tested those waters anyhow. Maria had been quick to prove that she would stand her ground – but she couldn’t just do so once. She had to keep her head high, _always_.

“You needn’t worry”, Minerva answered.

Palla agreed with a shrug, poking at the untouched food on her plate. “The councillors do require... a lot of patience. The shock from the incident in Altea isn’t helping. Though Catria took the hit and told them off, more times than usual.”

Maria gave her a tired smile and nodded, cutting a candied apple in half and offering one to Palla and the other to Minerva. “I can imagine. It would’ve been nice to see her, but on the other hand... Thanks for giving me a break today.”

Minerva could only nod back, and chew on her apple out of politeness.

All food tasted like ash. This ‘_dinner_’ was being held in the middle of the night, and Minerva was starving. Yet the idea of eating wasn’t pleasant at all.

She hated this. She hated to see Palla so tired and unhappy, she hated to see the dark circles beneath Maria’s eyes and she hated the fact that she couldn’t fix any of it. Part of Minerva’s mind was stuck in the moment when she’d reached for the ribbon in Palla’s hair; one small moment of happiness. When Palla had radiated her smile, instead of the bitter, clenched expression of her _Castle Macedon_-self.

_She hated this_.

Minerva had a throne, the power to command a kingdom, but she could do nothing to ease the burdens of her friends. Especially since the weight of only her own burdens already threatened to crush her.

“How was the infirmary, then?” Palla asked, trying to turn the conversation in a somewhat lighter direction. “That you’re eating late with us hints at you being busy, right?”

“Oh, _so _busy”, Maria said, but her smile was wider. “At one point I was mistaken for one of the students, and they actually let me _do _things instead of trying to rub more _royalty-like_ tasks onto me. I got to stabilize a few broken wrists, and talk to the knights—they’re my favorite. I mean, I don’t like that they get injured, obviously, but they remind me of the patients I... used to have.”

Minerva couldn’t help fixing her gaze into Maria’s, at that.

She should be happy to see her sister smiling, but her words fit into an increasingly clear pattern for Minerva.

The last time she’d seen Maria with a spring in her steps was as she ran to aid Caeda with an arrow sticking out of her back. The last time she’d seen _light_ in Maria’s eyes was after she’d gotten to use her magic in the rush of battle. And the calm of the castle infirmary couldn’t compare.

Minerva couldn’t help but be fascinated by how they’d had so many abilities in the midst of war, but within the haze of peace, none of them performed well. They were restless, quiet, sleepless.

And she hated it.

“That’s not to say I don’t enjoy my free days in the infirmary”, Maria hurried to add. “I’m _really_ grateful, Minerva, although... There’s something else I’d like to do. Maybe this isn’t the right time to ask for _another_ free day, but I think I’d like to journey into the _woods_ for a bit. For a little... _Sightseeing_.”

Palla arched a brow, as if to ask ‘_again?_’, but she didn’t say anything.

Minerva leaned over the table, spoke quietly. “Have you gotten word? Has he awoken?”

Maria’s eyes darted down onto her plate. “No, and no. But...” She looked up at Minerva again, with a pleading in her gaze. “It’s been a few weeks since last time. I’d like to go.”

Minerva looked over her shoulder for a moment. Whenever they spoke of this, they had to be careful. That the former usurper king of Macedon was alive... Nosecret Minerva wanted known. A secret she'd rather _forget_, in fact, however impossible that was.

For Maria, it was the opposite. It brought her some sort of peace to visit their brother in the hidden cabin in the northeastern forests. Not because Michalis had ever shown any sign of waking – simply because Maria wanted time and space to process what he’d done to her. To both of them.

That Michalis would probably never wake was a relief to Minerva – she preferred for him to sleep for the rest of his days. She actually preferred him dead, but that couldn’t be done without breaking Maria’s heart completely, and _that _was something Minerva wanted to avoid at all costs.

But unfortunately, Michalis was making progress, according to the healers’ secret letters. By all means, Michalis should be ‘_almost whole_’, now. Though if the gods were merciful, that would never mean any difference in his mindless state.

Minerva stabbed a potato. “Give him my regards.”

Maria’s smile turned humorless, but she merely shook her head. “Yeah”, she said, eyes on the impaled potato. “Of course.”


	4. Hera

Minerva’s personal quarters were on the second floor of the southern tower. She’d requested to build her home on the first floor, but just one flight of spiral staircases was enough to significantly increase security. And Minerva’s injury be damned, she had to accept that her safety came before her comfort.

Once she’d gone up the stairs though, the place she called home wasn’t too bad. The rooms had functioned as guest quarters before, back when Minerva’s childhood room still had been on the sixth floor. The guest rooms had cozy corners for beds and walls designed to meld with cupboard doors and small board game tables, but all that had been removed to create a royal suite. Any furniture meant for leisure had been removed, and been replaced with a desk the width of a regular house, an even wider bed, two reinforced windows and an impregnable door. The two armchairs by the fireplace would have been removed too, unless Minerva hadn’t insisted they stay. She needed _somewhere_ to rest where a mountain of tasks weren’t piled up in front of her. Those two chairs were deemed ‘_unnecessary_’, but they gave the option to stare into a gentle fire every now and again; and in that sense, they were far too important to be rid of.

And this morning, two months after the Altean incident, one of those armchairs had been moved.

Minerva awoke on her side. Her first sight of the morning was usually Palla’s summer-green hair half-hidden beneath layers of soft covers; a sight that hadn’t changed much for a near decade. They’d shared their spaces before they’d realized their bond, the time before a mere distant memory. And this morning was no different, except that Minerva was met by the sight that Palla lodged into one of the chairs. She’d pulled it away from the fireplace and set it by the window, where she rested her chin on the windowsill. Her eyes set on the skies.

“Good morning”, Palla greeted her, without looking away. “Seems like it won’t rain today.”

Minerva rolled out, her feet on the cold floor but the duvet still over her shoulders. Waking up was increasingly difficult for her, but freezing feet usually did the trick.

“The juniors will have their outdoor formation gauntlet, then”, Minerva said. “Does that mean you’ll humor Catria, this time?”

Palla smiled, but there was very little joy behind her eyes. “A valid question. I know I might have promised myself into a corner this time, but...” Palla tore her gaze away from the skies, and looked at Minerva with a soft, aching expression. “...There’s no place for me in the skies when you remain grounded, Minerva.”

Minerva pulled the duvet tighter over her shoulders, bent her head.

One year ago, as Minerva had reintroduced the traditional harvest festival, she’d borrowed a pegasus from the Knight Academy. She’d allowed herself to be swept into reminiscence, and meet the tradition of an heir of Iote taking to the sky to announce the festival. It was the last time Minerva had soared free.

Something that had been her entire life, once. Back when the wings of her friend still carried her, when she was met by bugles of excitement every time she neared the stables.

Not anymore. Minerva couldn’t dig her face into the scales of a wyvern and laugh, couldn’t let one curl around her to give her safety. Titania was long gone.

And with every day, Minerva’s memories of her dulled.

But Palla still had her mount, alive and well, and incredibly bored from lazing around in the stables. Minerva might have lost her connection to the heavens, but that shouldn’t mean Palla had to suffer with her. This castle crammed her, crammed them both – Palla’s heart belonged to the skies, and denying it for much longer would kill her spirit for good. Neither of them belonged between stone walls.

“I think you should go”, Minerva said. “Because I think it’d make you happy.”

For lack of any better phrasing, Minerva simply stated the truth. A sleepy daze remained over her mind, made her lose track of her words and thoughts – and now she might have said the wrong thing. Palla sighed and merely glanced at her, her hair unbrushed and flowing over her back and shoulders as one big tangle.

_As if anything can make her happy, when we live like this_, Minerva thought.

“Even... Even if it did”, Palla insisted. “My happiness matter very little, and it may still hurt you, in more ways than one. What would people say if the Queen’s lifeguard spent half a day on the training grounds demonstrating formations to juniors, instead of what she’s _supposed_ to do? And I—I know the very thought of flying... pains you. How could I take off, with all that in mind?”

Minerva arose, and went to join her by the windowsill. She sat down on the arm of the chair and looked out through the finger-width openings in the metal and wood, watched as the dozens of patrolling sky knights circled the castle.

So light. So simple. A rider and their lifelong companion, cutting through the air like the masters they were.

“It pains me more to know that I’m the reason you stay”, she answered Palla, and she meant it. Most days, Minerva could offer nothing but strife for those she loved most, but now... Now, Palla had declined Catria’s eager offers to join her as an extra instructor five times before, each time with the excuse that her duties to Minerva were more important. And Minerva hadn’t had the courage to disagree before, hadn’t had the strength to really _see_ Palla’s longing gaze toward the clouds.

“I will come with you”, Minerva continued. “It won’t look like you neglect your duties that way, and it might... help keep up morale, if I’m visible to the Academy. I haven’t been there for a year, so it’s high time, I suppose. At least, that’s the excuse I can use to get a few hours out of the castle.”

Palla frowned, not more than with a mere dimple in her brow. Her gaze set on Minerva, now.

“Oh, I...” She halted in her speech, and bit her lip. “...I wouldn’t want you to go out of your way, and honestly, demonstrating for a class of juniors isn’t _that _important compared to everything else that needs done.”

“Maybe not”, Minerva agreed. “But both Catria and I want what makes you happy, and if _you _want this, then it _is _important. Same as these chairs; they were to be discarded because they weren’t deemed necessary. But this is where we rest our minds. Without that, everything else would fall apart.”

Palla didn’t seem all that convinced, but she reached for Minerva’s hand, and her fingers entangled with hers.

_I am your home. I am your shield._ Every time she looked right at Minerva, she needn’t repeat her promises through words; they were etched in the soft iron of her gaze. That was the way she’d looked at Minerva every time she’d been offered to act as temporary instructor before, and every time it had been followed by a refusal.

And for a moment, Minerva was certain she’d refuse to leave the ground yet again, but when she smiled, Minerva knew there was hope.

“It sounds to me like you don’t have the kingdom’s best interest at heart”, Palla finally said, her smile remaining, and Minerva squeezed her hand in response.

“I absolutely do”, Minerva answered with a slight chuckle and leaned her head on the wall. “It’s about the future, and what could possibly be more important? The knight juniors will be able to witness your prowess in person, and learn from it. You’re a legend to them already. They’ve probably dreamt of becoming just like you when they were children.”

“You make me sound old”, Palla scoffed, but her thumb slowly brushed the back of Minerva’s hand. The air around them turned easier, softer, and Palla winked at her. “But putting it like that, I couldn’t possibly forsake the offer. After all, I wouldn’t want to lose that _legend_-status, now would I?”

\---

Palla shot through the sky like a dancer, answering to Catria’s signals without skipping a beat. Her focus so precise, as though the time spent on castle floors hadn’t affected her in the slightest.

She remained Macedon’s absolute best. Palla may have declined every offer Minerva had given regarding noble status and high military ranks, but _that_ was a title no one could deny. Not even Palla herself.

The purpose of this exercise was to twist-and-plunge – a frightening prospect for new recruits who didn’t quite trust their mounts yet, but for Palla, it was nothing but excitement. Minerva could read her all the way from her royal booth on the ground, knew the feeling of thrilling horror as the ground closed in, the sensation of the airspeeds flattening her cheeks...

Minerva caught herself before she dug herself any deeper. The sky wasn’t hers. She shouldn’t be tempted by it. Shouldn’t long for what she had been, shouldn’t _miss_ days she’d rather die than return to, and yet...

The exercise continued for an hour, and Minerva didn’t let her eyes off the clumsy, laughing juniors as they tried to follow Palla’s example. When the two sisters showcased their mastery together, Minerva stood as one among the awestruck youth.

And she felt like a stranger. She’d flown over these training grounds herself many years ago, it had felt like a home. A simple place where she’d only had one purpose.

She wasn’t a soldier. Would never be one, again. Though a soldier was still what her people saw, on the rare occasions she moved outside the castle grounds. Even now. She could sense the questioning looks of the juniors, even the instructors; ‘_Why doesn’t Iote’s heir fly?’_

Palla had joked about losing her prominence before this, and Minerva had laughed with her. But right then, the fear was all too real.

_I look pathetic to them_, Minerva realized. She was the Queen of the kingdom of Sky Knights, and she withered away on the ground. Looking as vulnerable as she did, no wonder some bold students had let their opinions loose on the walls of the academy. The slandering words had long been washed away, but they lingered with Minerva.

They’d called her weak. And perhaps they were right.

\---

The demonstration was over far too quickly, though somehow also not quickly enough. The ground sucked at Minerva’s feet, as heavy as her heart, and she couldn’t get out of there soon enough. Yet, when Palla finished her show by soaring down to Minerva’s little royal cabinet, Minerva wouldn’t have minded if Palla’s time in the sky would’ve been prolonged.

To witness such a grin on Palla’s face – one of genuine, _genuine_ joy - it was worth every second as a bystander. Though it was a grin that Palla quickly doused before she landed before her, and that was another stab into Minerva’s heart. That Palla would hide her joy and relief from doing what she loved, for _Minerva’s _sake—it wasn’t right. Palla would return to the world of angry red walls and venomous words, without hope of escape. She wouldn’t complain, but every second she’d long for another moment on the fields.

It was obvious to Minerva what she had to do. She couldn’t stay like this. A realization that made her gradually nauseous with every passing second, as Palla dismounted and her pegasus nibbled lovingly at her braid.

“Are you all right, Minerva?”

Of course she’d ask. Minerva couldn’t force a smile, like she’d originally planned, but she gave a slight nod, and Palla’s eyes dulled at the lie.

“I’m sorry”, she said. “This was a terrible idea – I shouldn’t have accepted it, it was a selfish indulgence for my sake—“ 

“Don’t say that.” Minerva leaned over the railing, closer, in order to be heard over the noise of the yard. “You deserve a break.”

“So do you.”

_Well_. Minerva glanced to the laughing juniors, as they removed their helmets and rowdily patted each other on the back. Some dared to hug their mount and thank them. So clumsy, like toddlers who’d just learned how to walk.

And Minerva was unbearingly jealous of it. If only she could start over, be like them. Return.

It was a senseless longing, one that she’d learned to push aside for these two years. And now, one that she had to embrace.

“Minerva, really, I...” Palla rubbed some of the sweat from her brow, before she looked ahead again. In her attire, her tight braid, her tense jaw, she looked so much like her old self. And Minerva missed that, too.

“Don’t apologize”, Minerva interrupted her. “Please. I’m the one who should be ashamed. But I swear to you, you will not take to the skies without me again. Unless you want to”, she hurriedly added.

Palla’s eyes widened, and she leaned closer. Disbelieving.

Minerva felt like vines crawled up her shins, rooting her in place, telling her ‘_no, no, it’s not for you’_, but she bit down, pushed it aside.

There was no way to bring back Titania. No way to have her knowing gaze look at her, no way to have her huff indignantly in Minerva’s face when a sheep was too bony for her taste, no way for Minerva to curl up under her wing—

But she could have the sky. Sometimes. Maybe.

_For Palla’s sake. To fit an image_. They were excuses, perhaps. But they left very little room for the stubborn parts of Minerva to resist.

“I mean it”, Minerva continued, as if trying to make it clear, or official. It felt like anything but. “There isn’t much time for us to spare, but when there is... Would you do me the honor?”

Palla watched her face, carefully as she would an impossible puzzle. “The honor would be mine”, she said, but sounded far too surprised to be convincing. She expected Minerva to take it all back, and Minerva understood why. That would certainly make more sense.

Minerva smiled at her, a smile that came on its own, not the forced one she’d had planned. “Well then. The wyvern breeders still thrive after the war. I’ll make sure to word a letter to one, as soon as we’re able.”

Catria hollered at them from across the training field, but Palla did not turn around immediately. She went up on tiptoes, leaned over the railing, and kissed Minerva’s forehead.

No longer fearful of the many eyes around them, Palla let herself act more like a lover than a lifeguard.

“Thank you”, Palla whispered, and this time, there was no doubt in her voice.

Maybe the entire academy stared at them, at the sheer impossibility of such informal behaviour, but right then, Minerva didn’t care in the slightest.

\---

The following two weeks were a plague, in every sense. Certain diseases thrived at the height of summer, and it left no time for Minerva to spare. Even if she could afford an hour or two, she wasn’t allowed outside the castle, lest the summer plague spread to her; and so she stayed, listing the assignments the kingdom needed until her ink dried out.

She didn’t mention the promise she’d made on the Academy training grounds, and Palla didn’t bring it up, either. But she couldn’t have forgotten.

_Soon_, Minerva wanted to tell her. _It will happen, soon_.

But it hurt to speak of it. Minerva hated how she couldn’t swallow her own pain, how _relieved _she was that this plague kept her inside. At the same time, she wanted nothing but to leave, but that was more due to the prickly nobles and never-ending royal duties.

Once the two weeks had passed, Maria stepped up to the council, a familiar glimpse of power radiating from her gaze as she held her healing staff as elegantly as she could.

“The worst days are over”, she said. “The Queen’s dispatch of healers was successful, but I must beg of you to assure source control.”

Minerva never ceased to be uncomfortable by Maria’s impeccable nobility-impression, nor being addressed by her baby sister so officially. These were different days, she knew that, and yet she’d never stopped expecting one of her sister’s loud laughs or spontaneous hugs.

“The recent drought has dried many wells”, Maria continued. “And these diseases grow in shallow waters. The expert conclusion, coming from every single healer dispatched to the endemic areas, is that in order to keep this from happening again, we must improve the wells in the lowlands.”

“We’ll absolutely consider it”, the Treasurer nodded, and Minerva knew that was the same as a ‘_no_’, coming from him.

Maria must have known that, too, because the same night she followed Minerva and Palla to their private quarters, and stayed in front of the fireplace, wrinkling her forehead over a batch of documents. Minerva tried to be of help, but she knew nothing of wells and too much about their current economic state.

‘_If we could just present them with a good plan on our own_’, Maria insisted, every time she met a dead end. ‘_Then they can’t say no!_’

In the end, Minerva couldn’t fight her exhaustion and fell asleep on the warm floor, lulled by the in-depth discussion Maria and Palla were engaged in. And she awoke to Palla’s grim face above her, telling her that they’d had to give up for the night, and that Minerva should find somewhere softer to rest. Maria was gone by then.

Minerva couldn’t sleep after that, engulfed by guilt. She couldn’t help everyone she wanted to help, she couldn’t be anything but _her_. And in her mind, that made her absolutely useless.

The gentle sun helped brighten their morning somewhat, but Palla seemed just as heavy as she’d been the night before.

Minerva knew what had to be done. As Palla reached for the door, Minerva asked her to wait.

“I’m allowed to leave the castle, now.”

Palla arced a brow at her. “The plague’s under control, but I still wouldn’t call it _safe_, Minerva.”

These last few months, Minerva had noticed a steady decrease in Palla calling her anything but her name. No ‘_dear highness_’, no ‘_love_’, just ‘_Minerva’_. She wasn’t sure what it meant.

“It never is”, Minerva quickly answered, then cleared her throat. “I’ve got places to be, though. I feel like I should have ignored sensibility and just gone immediately, plague or no plague.”

Palla’s hand left the doorknob, and she smiled, the harsh lines around her eyes softening. “As the resident expert on Minerva-safety, I think that sounds like it would’ve been a terrible idea.”

“Maybe so”, Minerva agreed, her heart aching as Palla’s gaze met hers – though this time, it was a good kind of ache. “But I should’ve risked it. I’d rather not wait another minute, if I’m honest.”

Palla let out a short chuckle, one that brightened the room infinitely more than the sun ever could. Then, just as quickly, she turned serious again. “Really, Minerva, if you’re having second thoughts about what you said to me in the training yard—“

“I do not”, Minerva assured her. “I swore to you once, and I’ll do it again.”

Palla’s shoulders relaxed slightly, but neither moved toward the other. Minerva could have embraced her, swept her off the floor and jogged to the stables, laughing all the while—if only the red walls didn’t suffocate them so.

The sky would be different, Minerva tried to convince herself. There, the two of them could be just as they’d been before. As soon as every heavy task was far, far below them, Minerva would be able to rediscover her true home.

\---

An enclosure for wyverns had to be enormous. The finer wyvern facilities had contraptions that stretched all over the sky above like a dome. Similar to castle Macedon, the sheer height was impossible to grasp once on the ground beside it, and yet, Minerva remembered it to be bigger.

She’d only been here once before, as a mere child. Ten years old? Twelve? She wasn’t entirely sure. The last time she’d only barely been able to reach the knocking arch on the gate; that she remembered clearly.

Now, Minerva could easily reach the edge of the roof, though the memory made her want to shrink back down to what she’d used to be. When she’d watched the metal dome with awe, listened to the bugles of wyverns with excitement, when she’d had a soft, brown hand on her back, leading the way—

“My mother brought me here”, Minerva said before she could stop herself. It simply slipped out of her.

Palla put a hand on her shoulder. “I know”, she said and squeezed her. “And that was a splendid idea on her part.”

Minerva surprised herself by letting out a low-pitched laugh. “I’m actually glad we met a few years after that; if you’d seen how terrible I was on a pegasus, you’d never be able to look at me again.”

“I doubt that”, Palla smiled and squeezed her shoulder again. “It’s impossible for me not to, since you’re the most wonderful sight in the world.”

Odd, how laughter and sorrow could coexist so easily. Palla offered an easy way, one where they went through this with crooked smiles at old memories, but sorrow persisted. Minerva put her hand on top of Palla’s in a search for courage, before she lifted the knocking arch and slammed it into the gate.

One impossibly long minute passed, and Minerva had the time to think that perhaps there was no one there to greet unannounced guests, before the gate was pushed open by wrinkled hands.

The owner of the facility was the same as thirteen years ago. Minerva was sure the moment she saw him, and it was a relief, not having to introduce herself. Then again, with the circlet on her head and the color of her eyes, not many needed introductions.

“Wh— Your Majesty!” The old man bowed deep, so deep Minerva worried he’d not be able to straighten up again. “This is most—most unexpected!”

Minerva dipped her head in response. “I apologize for not scheduling my appearance”, she said. “The plague still complicates communications.”

In truth, she’d simply not thought of it. Her exhausted mind tended to overlook things.

“Not to worry”, the man said as he stood up straight and put a trembling hand over his chest. “I always have time to spare for such honorable guests! The Queen to graces my business twice in my lifetime; I can hardly believe my eyes!”

Minerva held back a frown. She’d grown so used to pretentious and false praise toward her crown, she couldn’t honestly say if this man was genuine or not.

“Different Queen, back then”, Minerva said, keeping bitterness out of her voice as well as she could. “But the purpose of the visit is the same.”

“Of course”, the man nodded. “Yes, of course.” He opened the gate wider, and showed them in. The room ahead functioned as a stable of sorts, with multiple metal doors between each level in order to remain in control when the wyverns were moved. Minerva remembered which room was used for saddling, which one for feeding and washing before the long journey to the chosen wyvern’s new home. Passing through each one was like trudging through a barrier, and the keeper’s conversation didn’t make it any easier.

“Oh, if you’ll excuse the rambling of an old man”, the Keeper smiled at them. “I remember so fondly the day I witnessed your magnificent talent for bonding with a wyvern. With Titania, no less—the wildest of the bunch! Absolutely incredible! When you flew across the sky together for the first time, it looked like you two had done nothing else for your entire lives – and that’s when I knew you were destined for greatness, the both of you!”

The praise rang hollow. Minerva felt Palla’s hand slip into hers and harden, as an attempt to relay some strength into her.

“Forgive my enthusiasm”, the Keeper added. “I should offer my condolences instead. Many good wyverns were lost in the war. A terrible loss, it was.”

“Terrible”, Minerva echoed. She was usually free from the screams and roars and blood in her memory, but now she couldn’t escape them. She’d been the cause for so many of those lost, and the cause for Titania’s final stand and gruesome end. She’d done what was necessary to stay alive, but that didn’t mean she deserved to be here.

“Well then”, the Keeper went on and opened the second large gate, toward the great enclosure. “All the more reason for me to help you find a replacement, Your Majesty!”

Minerva couldn’t muster an answer. Green, red and blue eyes peered at her from every direction, black and green scales shimmered in the morning light, and her thoughts stopped in their tracks. She hadn’t been close to a wyvern in years. She recognized the reptilian smell, the scepticism and keen intelligence behind every tilt of the head, and together, some sort of nostalgic hope awakened within her.

“Don’t mind these ones”, the Keeper said and waved at her to follow. “I have the perfect specimen – he probably lounges on the warm rocks in the center. Unless he’s busy fighting the rest of the young ones for the spot. Either of the two.”

Minerva followed him, and most of the wyverns bared their teeth at her when she passed them by, others snapped their jaws close to her ear. But she kept her step, didn’t even flinch; wyverns were smarter than killing the humans that fed and protected them. They saw a stranger, and they needed to show her their strength, test her through threats.

So, even though they could tower over Minerva and dig their teeth through her like she was made of butter, Minerva was the one who had to stand her ground. They could rough her up – shoving and clawing a human wasn’t an issue, at least not by wyvern standards – but she made sure to display the confidence of a leader, make her own threats. _Touch _me, she glared at them, _and I will retaliate, and you will be sorry. _

Palla’s steps were slightly tenser than Minerva, but Palla still radiated the same level of intimidation, her head held high and her hand on her sword. It was second nature to both of them.

At first, a strong sense belonging washed over Minerva – she hadn’t felt this at home since she last buried her face into Titania’s scales. And with that, her mind doused into the mud of shame instead. And the further they walked, each step caused her more pain.

Her heart still _searched_, and at first glance, a wyvern could look so much like _her_. Every time a pair of red eyes peered at her, she felt warmer, then instantly colder. Every time her mind was stupid enough to hope, and every time the hope was crushed, she hurt worse than before.

“Ah, there he is!” The Keeper stopped and arched his head, where a large wyvern rested, curled up on a boulder heated by the sun. Its scales a shimmering green, and once he opened his eyes to see who disturbed him, Minerva met a gaze as crimson as her own.

“This is Aberus”, the Keeper proudly stated. “He’s from the same line as your old wyvern – they share a father, Tiberius, you see – even though this one is from Tiberius’ third batch and not the first. Aberus is an absolute fighter, but it’s not more than Your Majesty could handle, I’m sure. I've actually promised him to another lord, no-one less than Councillor Ida herself, but that does not matter – a child of Iote can choose whatever wyvern they please!”

Minerva barely heard what he said. Her eyes were stuck in the same eyes that had greeted her every morning since her childhood, and Aberus stared back. He even lifted his head and narrowed his eyes, much like Titania would have done. ‘_You’re a big fellow_’, he seemed to say. ‘_You think you can take me on?_’

For a few seconds, Minerva was tempted. She could return to what was familiar, and start over, just as she’d wished for. Find a friend that understood her in a way that transcended language. A spoiled creature who despite that wished for Minerva to share in her warmth and food. A fierce protector all the way to the end.

But that was a spot already taken.

She looked away, and her eyes landed on a tree not far away. Its stem was completely bare from the hundreds of wyverns that had sharpened their claws on its bark, and on one of its thickest branches rested a jet black wyvern, her tail swinging lazily in the wind.

Minerva circled around the boulder, ignoring Aberus’ warning growls, and stopped beneath the bare branches. She was close enough to reach out her hand and place it on the wyvern’s head, but she got no reaction. Not even a snarl, or a snap of jaws.

“Hey”, Minerva said, and the wyvern finally responded to her presence by sighing loudly and opening her eyes. Then she merely gave Minerva an annoyed glare before she closed them again.

Her eyes had been a shining blue, like pieces of late summer skies, and her scales were as black as obsidian. The opposite of Titania’s looks in every way.

And that was somehow more tempting. Someone entirely new, entirely unknown. Someone who genuinely didn’t seem to care about valor or strength.

That’s Hera”, the Keeper said, as he too circled Aberus’ boulder. “I wouldn’t bother with her, Your Majesty. She’s a loner, but she’s as clever as they come. Makes her a pain in the neck.”

“Tell me about her”, Minerva said, without taking her eyes off the wyvern.

The Keeper hesitated, but yielded with a scratch of his chin. “She, uh, she hates having humans touch her wings, but she likes to get scratched at the nape of her neck, and she will devote herself to anyone who brings her fish every now and again. No sheep, only goats. Picky, she is. Not the strongest either, she mostly lazes around. I doubt she’d ever be entirely loyal, even to someone with your talent, Your Majesty. Now, as I said, Aberus is free should you want him—”

“Hera will do”, Minerva said. “Thank you.”

The Keeper openly stared at her for the fraction of a moment, but composed himself quickly and bowed just as deeply as before.

“Whatever her majesty desires, of course! I’ll take her back with us and prepare her for you, of course! With your guidance, even Hera will turn into a fine choice, I’m sure!”

Maybe he didn’t dare to question her. Maybe he would speak ill of her behind her back, call her a fool of a queen. 

It didn’t matter. Minerva was just happy to finally leave.

\---

The harsh winds on Minerva’s face welcomed her like an old friend, and she couldn’t keep her eyes from tearing up.

Hera was not as bulky as Titania had been, but when Minerva fitting her legs into the saddle straps she still felt like she’d let a weight off her back. The endless skies all around her. This was everything she’d longed for, though some of the magic shattered whenever Minerva looked down and black scales glared at her. And whenever Hera snatched the top of an evergreen tree and chewed on its branches as she flew, or whenever she made her turns with intentionally uncomfortable jolts.

Minerva was quick to correct her, and Hera never repeated the same undisciplined pranks twice. Though she seemed awfully smug even when she obeyed.

Even so, nothing could ruin the surge within Minerva as Palla glided alongside her, following the fickle gusts and unpredictable jolts with grace. Her hair unrestrained and wild, her light grey breastplate one with the clouds, her cheeks reddened by the cold, and her smile the same as Minerva had seen on the training grounds. 

Her hand reached over the gaps toward Minerva whenever she got the chance, and for the short moments they were connected, nothing else existed.

They were free. They were home.


	5. Room to Breathe

The sun was getting merciless. The height of summer was drawing to an end, but the heat was not diminishing. The wild wyverns had begun their migration and swarmed around the northern mountaintops, searching for a place to cool down.

Hera seemed to really enjoy the sight. A bit too much, perhaps. She pulled at the reins, as though trying to convince Minerva that they should go with her wild brethren. Which wasn’t Minerva’s idea of a relaxing flight—any of the wild wyverns could bite Hera’s head off, and a whole flock of them was a certain end.

Palla whistled a warning from below. They were getting dangerously close.

Minerva looked down, signaled a quick affirmation and began to descend. She was getting used to the sight of Palla and her pegasus as the only thing that seemed close and real, while the ground seemed to be just a distant dream, and she’d started to genuinely enjoy herself. But something was always off. Hera made sure it was.

It was a struggle, though compared to the rest of her life, Minerva felt somewhat in control. She might not look as graceful as she had back in the day, but that was a bit much to ask, seeing as she’d only known Hera for a few weeks.

Though this time, Palla greeted her with a frown as they hit the ground

“Minerva”, Palla sighed, “Are you sure you shouldn’t go back and pick a wyvern who’s a better fit for you?”

Minerva threw her gaze over to Hera’s perked head, watched the schemes boil behind the innocent blue of her eyes. ‘_You can never best me’_, she seemed to say.

“She fits me fine”, Minerva answered Palla.

She might not love her trips to the sky the way she’d used to, but it took her mind off some things, and Palla’s cheeks regained some color and her eyes some of their light. She even smiled her soft smile more often, and when Minerva smiled a little back at her and brushed her cheek, the world changed for a moment. Like there wasn’t a kingdom of troubles around them. Like they weren’t stepping in the same, useless place. Arguing the same, useless words.

But Palla still didn’t call her ‘_dear_’ that often, anymore. The silence the nobles forced on her spread like a poison, one the skies could not cleanse. Every time they returned to the ground, Palla’s eyes dulled.

One late afternoon, when the autumn winds made red leaves dance outside the castle windows, one such noble messenger deliberately made sure to stand between Palla and Minerva, and as soon as he was gone, Minerva couldn’t take anymore.

She tackled the door open to a broom closet, and slammed the door shut.

Palla had enough time to skitter inside too, without question, without hesitation, and joined Minerva in the darkness.

Minerva leaned on the wall, brooms clattering and creaking around and below her. She couldn’t see much, with the only light coming in from below the door in a thin line, but that was a relief. Outside were lights and plagues and responsibilities and _too much_, too much—

They were quiet for a few heartbeats. Minerva listened to the steps of the servants who rushed past, her neck tense. She feared they’d open the door. She feared it so much, her breath trembled.

“I just... need to breathe”, Minerva gasped as an explanation, shifting her weight careful of not snapping any more brooms in half.

“And is this really the best place to do that, then?” Palla whispered back.

“Yes”, Minerva choked. “Yes it is.”

She fumbled for Palla’s shoulders, her fingers caught in her hair, causing her to fumble even more as she moved her hands further up the back of Palla’s neck, her thumb brushing her cheek.

Palla was quick to respond. Her soldier’s stance loosened as her own hands tangled into Minerva’s hair.

It was dark, crowded, and uncomfortable, but both of their grips were firm, neither intent on letting the other go anytime soon. Wood creaked as Palla leaned into her, and Minerva’s back hurt from the poke of a shelf, but that didn’t matter at all.

_Fire_. They both burned, from something so simple as a kiss. There were no whispers, no words, only fire, burning hot and bright. Trying to rekindle the spark that only existed in the skies, trying to break the devastating stiffness and silence.

When they pulled back, Minerva could feel warm, wet tears on Palla’s cheeks, and Minerva’s own pent up frustration found a way to leak out of her eyes.

“I’m sorry”, she blubbered and put her forehead against Palla’s, her fingers still cradling the back of her head. “I’m _sorry_—“

“Please, Minerva”, Palla whispered back, her voice weak. “Don’t. I swear I want to be here.”

She was quiet for a few moments, regressing back into the familiar, as if she feared being punished for her voice, even here.

“I want to be at your side”, Palla continued, stronger this time, fighting back. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather spend my days. Your battles are my battles—“ Her voice got too thick for her to speak any further, so instead, she kissed Minerva again. Calmer, less desperate.

“But... I have to admit, it is heavy... To feel so helpless. To feel like I can do nothing to help you.”

“You do so much”, Minerva whispered against her lips. “Palla, you do... _so much_.”

_And all you get in return are cold stares and lonely chains, and we can’t escape them. _Minerva couldn’t speak the latter; her heart hammered with the fire, frustration and indignation deafened her tongue.

It was too dark for her to tell if Palla’s expression changed, but she scoffed through her nose like she was fighting a small chuckle.

“My dear highness”, Palla said. Minerva had forgotten just how lovely the phrase sounded. “For you, I will always try to do more, do better. And we may be on the verge of tears every day, but I haven’t lost hope just yet. It will get easier. It will get better. We can make a home we love, here. I know it.”

Minerva enclosed her in her arms. Brooms clunked against the wall, and one snapped when she moved, but that was a small sacrifice for her to be able to finally bury her face in Palla’s shoulder, like she’d longed to do the entire day.

“They say the two first years of a regime change are the most difficult”, she murmured, and Palla chuckled.

“Who says?”

Minerva snorted a short laugh at her own vagueness. “I do. And I have sources aplenty for that claim.”

Palla _tsk_’ed and kissed her neck. “I volunteer to be a source”, she said against Minerva’s skin. “I’ll represent the ‘_what’s your problem with commoners on council, noble sire?’_-division. And the ‘_should I slice down anyone who sneers at my queen or should I give them a third chance?_’-division.”

Minerva smiled, despite the smarting truths. “It’s a battle”, she agreed. “But we’ve pushed through those before.”

“And with plenty of unconventional methods, too”, Palla hummed. “Though it’s a first time for me hiding from the enemy in a broom closet.”

“Gods, you’re right”, Minerva chuckled. “I’m sorry for simply... Barging in here so suddenly.”

Palla playfully flicked her nose. “I’m fantastic at sudden turns.”

“The best”, Minerva agreed, and kissed her again. Half the court was probably looking for her right then, but she didn’t really care. If all Minerva got was moments, then she’d make them last as long as she could.

“Palla”, she whispered. “I love you.”

She felt new, hot tears against her lips in response.

\---

Minerva’s twenty-sixth nameday passed by quickly. Minerva made sure to surround herself with just enough spectacle so that she could turn the attention away from her without being too obvious about it, and without an idle moment, time rushed past her.

In the morning, Catria led her best students in a sky dance, with drums thrumming so the streets trembled. After a free midday meal to everyone in the capital, Minerva was the first to open the doors to a newly renovated orphanage at the edges of the capital—she herself needed no nameday gifts, so she spent some of her personal funds on such renovations instead. The orphanage was run by Derne, one of her former Queen’s Guard, so maybe she played slight favorites this year – but no one had openly complained so far. Minerva wouldn’t have cared, either way. The house had needed repairs, and when she’d gotten to see the face of a former companion in the front of the masses, with two children riding on his back and grateful tears on his face, the spectacle of a nameday wasn’t as heavy on her.

But when the evening came, the weight had returned. She still was not free. Macedon traditionally didn’t throw many balls, but it was only fitting to invite every noble with a significant seat at her council to dine with her, as a change of pace. Her one place of respite, now invaded by the faces that haunted her in her stress-based nightmares.

For the entire day, Minerva barely moved her face. She’d never really noticed her namedays during the war, and that was almost preferable. She was a fool to think so, but she was an exhausted fool and she missed simplicity. She missed it so much.

But once autumn passed and winter laid its muffling sheet over them, Minerva was faced with a celebration she _did_ love.

Because with the first snowstorm came Maria’s nineteenth nameday.

There was no demand to have her day become a display, and Maria made full use of that. Her only wish was to take a day of stillness in her royal quarters, together with people she cared for.

And so Minerva, Catria and Palla sat in front of the fireplace of Maria’s room, while Maria’s favorite maid served them hot mulberry lemonade. Just the four of them, on the fourth floor of the southern tower, as the snow whirled outside the tinted glass of the windows.

It was a blessing beyond compare. Not even the most overbearing of councillors could stand against the furious frown of the youngest princess and suggest that the Queen leave her sister’s side for ‘_more important matters_’. They had hearts, after all. Some more than others.

Minerva still had to listen to the pounding headache that appeared every time she had the time to relax, but it was easier to endure such a headache with sweet lemonade and pleasant company.

Maria was dressed in white for the occasion, with a blue waistband and her hair hanging loose around her face. It made her look far younger than she was, something Minerva clearly wasn’t alone to think.

“You’re sure you should have _nineteen_ raisins in your nameday-bun, lil’sister?” Catria chuckled at Maria and elbowed her in the side. “It was just yesterday you had _ten_ of them in there!”

Maria gave her a playful glare. “Not you, too – it’s bad enough with Minerva still thinking I’m twelve.” She smiled a little, and looked down on the bun that she’d split in half. “Actually, I’m a bit old for nameday-buns, aren’t I?”

“Where you draw the line depends on how much you like raisins”, Catria retorted. “I wouldn’t mind having twenty-four raisins in my bun on my next nameday, just saying. Palla, take the hint.”

Palla rolled her eyes, in that special way of hers that never looked too rude, and Maria giggled.

“That sounds disgusting”, Maria said and put one of the halves of the bun into the air in front of her for all to see. “Just look how much there are in this one!”

“I can eat it for you if you like”, Catria offered.

“Nu-uh!” Maria quickly put one half of the bun in her mouth, the rest of her speech muffled. “Means bad luck!”

The playful gleam in her eye died down, and she started chewing thoughtfully. Her gaze set on the wild snowfall outside the window.

“Est’s nameday is in the spring”, Maria continued. “Do they have nameday buns in Altea?”

Catria shrugged, a frown forming on her face. “I’m sure she’ll have Abel make one for her or something.”

The air dulled around them, and Palla’s gaze lost its focus. Mentioning Est was a sure way of dragging discomfort into the room, but it couldn’t be helped. Her absence was always palpable.

“I wish she were here”, Maria said bluntly, then bent her head. “I know it’s winter and all, but still... I miss her. And it’s my nameday. Couldn’t she have come?”

Palla’s hand reached for Minerva’s, and she closed her eyes. “She has a new life”, she said. “We should be happy for her.”

How could it be that she sounded so convinced and uncertain at the same time? The air dulled even further, and Minerva could do nothing but join in the silence.

It was Catria who finally broke it.

“Hey, this is not the right time to be sad, is it?” Catria smiled and slammed a large square shape on the table, causing small specks of dust to fly in all directions. “We’re here, and I know Est would have wanted us to celebrate Maria’s oldness with all the flair we can muster!”

Catria didn’t allow for any counterpoints, as she immediately pushed the square over the table, its gray fabric wrappings almost coming loose.

Maria raised a brow and used a raisin-sticky finger to lift one of the flaps of fabric. Beneath, the silver-infused title of a book glimmered back at her.

“A Summary of Nature Magic History and its Connections to Light Magicians”, Maria read aloud, and a smile crept upon her face as she did.

“It’s from Palla and me”, Catria announced with a grin of her own. “Or, well, I picked it out – I got the most boring-sounding title I could imagine, knowing you’d probably like that one the most.”

Both Maria and Palla laughed at that, and the air changed. The weight of Est’s absence lifted, if only temporarily, as Maria carefully shifted through the pages.

Books were the only thing Maria wished to possess, that and new healing supplies – and while Minerva had gotten her many of those during the years, this time she felt like she could do more. When Maria had been locked in the same room for years on end, a new mending staff or a book was a shining treasure. But now, the entire world lay open for her, and yet Maria had almost locked herself in again. The same rooms, the same castle, the same cabin in the woods.

Minerva wanted to give her something that truly mattered, and while it caused her heart to ache, she knew what she’d have to ask.

“It’s a fine gift”, Maria said and her smile was bright as the sun. “Thank you so much!”

Minerva had been too quiet during the exchange, she realized. Her thoughts lingered with her own decision for a nameday gift, hesitation strangling her mind. And Maria had noticed, of course – her eyes drifted to Minerva and stayed there, as if asking if anything was the matter.

Minerva had no other choice but to clear her throat and begin. She placed the sealed letter she’d kept in her pocket on the table, and pushed it over to Maria.

“Shall I open it?” Maria asked with a hesitant smile.

“If you want”, Minerva answered, unable to keep the secret contained any longer. “It’s a letter of admission to the University of Khadein.”

Maria’s eyes widened, and she hurried to open the letter and see for herself. She folded it out, read the content at least twice over.

“Minerva”, she whispered. “What does this mean?”

“Anything you want it to mean”, Minerva said and rested her hands in her lap, tried to ignore the lump in her throat that grew larger with each second. “We shall not send it if you do not wish to go, of course, but you mustn’t think Macedon is the only place you’re allowed to be, Maria. I am convinced the University would welcome you with open arms if we sent this. The question is if you’d like to go or not.”

“But—“ Maria’s eyes darted to Palla and Catria, who merely gave her encouraging smiles in return. Minerva had told them the day before, and they may still be surprised, but not nearly as surprised as Maria.

“But what about you, the council—?”

“Try not to think of that”, Minerva smiled at her. “I want you to do what _you_ want, Maria. Est started a new life, as is her right, and that same freedom is yours, too.” 

Maria regarded her quietly for a long time, with closed jaws and a troubled frown. “It’s not that you want me gone?”

“Little candle”, Minerva chuckled, tried to hide the tears behind her eyes. “How could I ever?”

Maria carefully folded the letter and put it back down in its envelope, and Minerva’s vision might be blurry, but she could see a glistening awaken in Maria’s gaze.

Excitement, hope, _independence_. Eight years ago, Minerva had watched whole kingdoms burn just for the desperate hope to see Maria alive, and if _that _Minerva had known she get the chance to see Maria radiate such anticipation as she did now, there wouldn’t have been a moment’s hesitation.

Then again, _that _Minerva would also not have let Maria out of her sight for a moment, so perhaps that was an unfair comparison to make. She knew better, now. There was no need to guard Maria like she’d dissolve with the next gust of wind; Minerva had learned that from the many painstaking battles away from her. ‘_I am not made of glass’_, Maria had yelled at her, once. ‘_I am a person!_’

She’d do fine on her own, Minerva repeated to herself. Though unsurprisingly, not to much success.

She awakened from her tear-shrouded daze with Maria’s hand on her arm, gently pushing her.

“Sis”, she smiled. ”If you’re going to cry, that’s all right. There’s no need to tense up like this.”

“Right”, Minerva said, though it was more like a wheeze. “But it’s your nameday.”

Maria glanced down on the half-eaten bun on the table, and smiled wider. “So it is! Thank you, all of you, for coming. And for your gifts.” Her eyes glittered again, and Minerva’s heart both shattered and swelled. “They were both fantastic.”

\---

By the time darkness had made it impossible to see the dance of the snow outside, when all that remained as a reminder of the storm were the howl of the storm, Minerva had gotten warm all the way to her bones and dizzy from the high amount of sugar in the lemonade.

The four of them lay on their stomachs in front of the fire, eating almond cake and playing Tacticans’ Woodboard until Maria had beaten them soundly at least twice, then on their backs as they shared stories of spirits and local legends, then sitting up wrapped in blankets as they simply enjoyed each other’s company.

“How long does it take for letters to travel over to Khadein?” Maria asked. The flames flickered and cast shadows over her face, making it impossible to read her expression.

“Half a month, maybe?” Palla guessed. “It’s a large continent we live in, but we do have flying couriers.”

“Depends on the Khadein climate, I’d say”, Catria butted in. “Ugh, why did they have to pick such an unnatural place to build a school?”

“Khadein has changed over the two years since we were there last”, Maria said and crossed her arms. “There’s no unhinged immortal sorcerer pulling the strings anymore.”

“No, but the weather’s still weird”, Catria said and drummed her fingers against her cheek. “And Gharnef or no Gharnef, I still don’t trust that place. Well, suppose there’s nothing else to do – in order to make _sure_ our letters reach you, we’ll just have to write to you every single day!”

Maria laughed and hugged her empty glass. “That sounds great.”

“Oh no, it isn’t—I’ll vent all my grievances as an Instructor and tell you every piece of boring Academy gossip until you fall asleep just from seeing the courier!”

Maria only laughed again. “Doesn’t sound so different from now, does it?”

“Commander”, Catria said indignantly. “You’ll allow your sister to sass me like that?”

“I’d say you earned it”, Minerva said as she sipped on her lemonade, then she turned her eyes to Maria. “I’ll write to you as well, of course. Every week.”

“So will I”, Palla smiled, and poked Minerva in the side. “Or maybe we should just write them together, Minerva. To avoid repetitions.”

“It might be too much to ask of Est to upkeep enough focus to write a bloody letter once in a while”, Catria added on. “_’I’m busy_’, she says. Bah._ But_ I’m sure she’d try harder answering to your letters than ours!”

Palla nodded, smiled wider. “That’s right. You needn’t miss any of us for a second, Maria.”

Maria scooted closer, so she could rest her head on Minerva’s arm.

“I know”, she said and closed her eyes. “But I already do.“

\---

Macedon winters were harsh, and left very little room to travel. The letter of admission was sent ahead while Maria stayed in the castle for a few more months, awaiting the first buds of spring to clear the roads.

At times, she’d ask ‘_is it really all right that I leave?_’, and Minerva would give the same answer as before. But most of the time, Maria had a new energy behind her steps, and she chatted endlessly during dinner with Minerva and Palla. About her plans, what classes she hoped for, what teachers she figured she’d recognize.

And while it healed her to see Maria so happy, every time Minerva was reminded of her inevitable departure, she felt equally torn apart.

Once the flowers around the paved streets had begun to fight their way up toward the cold sunlight, Maria had packed her bags and was ready to leave the following morning. All according to plan, with no interruptions except for the usual people dragging at Minerva from every direction; she’d asked messengers and servants to only contact her in an emergency, and expected that to give her some calm and time to say a proper goodbye.

But as she helped Maria heave the last few books into a wooden box, there was a knock at the door.

“Sister Lena is here to see you, Your Majesty!”

Maria’s eyes widened, and Minerva’s heart skipped a beat.

_Lena_. She almost never ventured to the capital, and neither Minerva nor Maria had heard from her in over six months. She may be a lesser noble herself, but she’d chosen to leave the snare of politics behind her, and stayed in her countryside priory with Julian at her side. Occasionally she sent letters, but nearly all of her time was spent on the tasks of a cleric, so even that was a rare occurrence. That she’d come in person, and without any notice, was unheard of.

“Let her in”, Maria immediately answered, holding her breath.

The servant behind the door let it swing open, and in the next moment, Lena strode in with an aura of gentle confidence.

She looked like she hadn’t aged a day. She kept her red hair flowing down her shoulders, unfazed by the trend of cutting it like Minerva’s, and was dressed in a white healer’s gown with large pockets, where she rested her hands.

Her smile was the same, too. She dipped her brow in the sisters’ direction with an expression that seemed calm and harmless on the surface, but there was limitless courage behind her gaze.

“Your Majesty”, she greeted. “And Your Highness! How lovely to see you. I apologize for my rude and sudden appearance.”

Maria seemed unable to speak, tears gleaming in the corners of her eyes as she walked up to Lena and thrust her arms around her.

Lena merely laughed and tilted her head. “You’ve grown taller than me, Maria.”

Maria didn’t answer, and Lena quickly embraced her back. She looked so _happy_, so uncorrupted, and that was an odd sight in the castle, nowadays.

“What owes us the pleasure, Sister?” Minerva would have been much happier to see her on any other day but this, but she would never drive her away.

“Two things”, Lena answered and let go of Maria. “I heard the Princess was travelling to Khadein, and wanted to give my well-wishes in person, as any good friend would. And coincidentally, a message reached me from an unknown sender just as I was about to leave. I think it might be of interest to you both.”

Lena closed the door behind her, only after making sure that the servant had left them and were out of earshot. Minerva did not like the worry that turned in her gut.

“_The Eagle awakened on the Mountain_”, Lena said, her eyes suddenly grave. “_Now he sleeps once again_.”

Maria gasped and backed into a box with a thud. “He was _awake_?”

Minerva’s mood, already unstable, crashed into rock bottom. She clenched her jaw as hard as she could to hide it, but her soul burned.

“Well?” Minerva snapped. “Can he fight? Should we prepare any countermeasures?”

“I think not”, Lena answered her, rested her hands in her pockets again. “He spoke a few words, and seemed conscious as he did. He still can’t move his body, or they would have told me.”

None of them spoke, and Lena simply watched them in silence for a few aching seconds. Then, she bowed her head and put her hand on the doorknob.

“I’m sorry”, she said with an apologetic smile. “I should disturb you no longer—I’ll give you two time to prepare. Good-bye, Maria, and the best of luck to you. You’ll be teaching me when you return.”

“I doubt that”, Maria answered with a shaky smile. “You’re still the best at children’s medicine; I could never hope to surpass you.”

Lena laughed quietly. “We’ll see about that, won’t we?” She then turned her eyes to Minerva, and her gaze was solemn. “Farewell, Your Majesty. I hope we can see each other again, under... different circumstances.”

“As do I”, Minerva answered her, her voice tense. “Thank you, Lena.”

Maria stared into nothingness as the door closed, and when Minerva put a trembling hand on her shoulder, she released a shallow breath.

“He’s awake”, she whispered. “He’s truly alive. This is— This is a bit much—“ She sucked in a deep breath, staring down at the books behind her. “I don’t know if I should leave, knowing this—“

“Of course you should”, Minerva interrupted, trying to hold back her anger. _He shouldn’t get to ruin your happiness AGAIN_, she wanted to scream, but she had no more energy to speak.

“You’re right”, Maria breathed. “You’re right. I... I’ve already arranged to go. But... I could just pass the cabin on my way to Khadein, maybe... If he’s awake, I could finally talk to him.”

She kept staring at the books for another few moments of silence, before she looked at Minerva.

“You could come with me.”

Minerva scoffed, harsher than she meant to. “If he doesn’t pose a threat, I will not bother.”

_Because I’m not like you_, she could have explained._ I’m not__ forgiving. I’m not kind, or generous, or patient. _But she knew she needn’t argue the same things over and over; Maria tolerated Minerva’s unwillingness, and Minerva tolerated Maria’s openness. But none would yield to the other.

“Minerva...” Maria sighed, her fists clenched. “I... just mean that this is a chance you might not get again. There is so much we don’t know, that we’ll only learn once we speak to him.”

“I don’t care.” Minerva closed her eyes. “I don’t care what he has to say. I wouldn’t go there even if he and I were the last two people on the continent.”

Maria dug her gaze into the floor, her face knit together as if trying to hold back tears. And behind her facade, Minerva trembled.

She tried so hard to look ahead, to carve a path for herself, one where she could keep her family safe and happy forever—but even as nothing more but a half-dead nobody, her brother would still weave his way into her life. And because of him, a _Dragoon _would always live within her, igniting the hatred she'd never truly be rid of.


	6. Secret Cabin

Silence in the woods was different from silence in the castle.

Whenever there was quiet around Maria, there was also an air of expectancy. Something she had to say or do to please the dozens of eyes on her, whether she acted a healer or princess. And she reached over the treetops, stretched herself as far as she could go, but never felt like enough.

Sometimes drawing circles on her thigh with her fingers helped calm her down. There was a sense of safety in repetition when all else was unpredictable, but she had no need of that when she was outside the capital walls.

Here, in a location unmarked on every map, she was surrounded by the click of branches against wooden windows, and the rustle from the leaves on the vines growing around the lintel.

Here, in a cabin that used to be a run-down hunting shack, Maria smelled clay as Healer Amira worked her pottery, or vinegar from Healer Mircus’ experiments with pickled herbs, or the smoke from a hidden chimney.

Here, she got to watch Healer Amira’s wife, the blacksmith Thora, practice her leather-workings with a focused, furrowed brow. She got to watch Healer Borylf cook the potatoes she’d brought with excitement shining behind his eyes.

She could close her eyes, let her senses settle, let the strain of the present meld into the whispers of solid, soft earth and the magic that hummed within.

Maria needed this place. She’d realized that since the first day of return from the war. She needed somewhere to go, where her mind wasn’t constantly stimulated, where the pressure could lift from her chest. And strangely enough, she had equal need of the icy sense of purpose that travelled down her spine whenever she walked through the doors to the patient that was kept within the innocent walls.

It was a place to rest, and a place to grieve.

She opened the door to one of the three rooms in the cabin; the hall, or kitchen, or study, depending on need.

“Princess!” Healer Amira’s student, Esrin, jolted upright. He sat stiff and confused by the table in the corner, with ink on his face and crust in his eyes; Maria guessed he’d fallen asleep over his books. He tended to do that when he was alone.

“Hello Esrin”, Maria smiled at him. “Sorry for startling you. I... I got the message from Lena. I hope I am welcome, even though it wasn’t long since my last visit.”

“Of—of course you are!” Esrin got to standing, seemingly not aware of the ink on his cheeks. Though he was handsome nonetheless, in Maria’s opinion. Not that Maria would probably never tell him, seeing as she had enough things on her mind already; but she did like that another healer her own age lived in this peaceful oasis. It was strange to have found a friend in such a desolate place, but to Maria, that was yet another reason to long for returning.

“I’m on my way to Khadein”, Maria explained, and she could glimpse the fascination on Esrin’s face for a moment. “The message reached me just as I was about to leave. I thought I could stop by on the way. And don’t worry; I left my entourage at the base of the mountain.”

Esrin gave a knowing tilt of his head. “Same people as always?”

Maria smiled and nodded. Her entourage was an assortment of people from the expanding Queen’s Guard – which was more of a concept than a part of the military, seeing as three of Maria’s team were stable helpers and another a seamstress, but they loved travelling, and they loved being of help. And she loved them. Perhaps they didn’t believe Maria’s stories of savoring magical earth energy from a special spring, but they stood by her and never asked questions. Maybe they assumed she was so eager to return to this mountain every other month for a _romantic_ reason; a thought that usually made her snort a laugh, but it wasn’t _that _far from the truth, given how Esrin called this place home.

“So...” Maria glanced toward the door on the right side of the cabin, a lump in her throat growing in the place of her laughter. “Speaking of the message, has it, uhm... Has that happened again?”

Esrin shook his head. “I almost regret we sent that message”, he answered. “I don’t want to get your hopes up... But it was I who witnessed it, and honestly some of the healers here didn’t believe me when I told them. He... mumbles a lot, as you know. But something was different this time, I swear to you.”

Maria swallowed. “Different, how?”

“He looked me right in the eye”, Esrin said and gestured in an attempt to bring life to his words. “And moved his hand like this and told me to ‘_get away from him_’. I was in the middle of applying salve on his jaw to invigorate the bone growth, and as you know, that sort of stings. And he seemed aware; of me, the situation, everything. He’s gone back to the sleeptalk, but I _think_ he’s more aware of us this time around.”

Maria breathed in through her nose. Esrin had imitated Michalis’ voice almost perfectly, with harsh, commanding lashes. Hundreds of lonely hours swept around her at the sound, the whirlwind of lost time and fear, but she didn’t run. She didn’t want to run.

“Can I see him?”

Esrin merely nodded, stayed half-standing as she walked past his corner.

Opening the door to the room where Michalis rested was awful. Every time.

She missed Minerva. She missed her father. She missed her life. And she hated to do this alone, but do it she must.

A cold spring wind moved through the room, caused the dark curtains to swirl and the wool on top of the healer stools to bend. The hair spread out over the pillow fanned out a little, too, and for a moment, Michalis looked alive.

Another chill spread through Maria, but she still stepped up to him and sighed.

“Door open or closed?” Esrin asked from the threshold.

Maria glanced back on him. Esrin’s cloak moved with another pull of the wind; the window above Michalis’ bed was open, like it usually was to hunt away the stuffiness in the air. It invited cold to the rest of the cabin, though, and Maria wanted to look brave and tell him to close it.

She had days when she had that kind of courage, but today was not one of them. The mere thought of a closed door caused her heart to shrink.

“Open”, she answered. “Please.”

Esrin merely nodded. “I’ll close the window instead then. That’s all right?”

Maria managed a smile, and Esrin took that as a sign that she was fine, and with a quick lean into the room and a flick of his wrist, he shut the window, although he glanced at her once again to check if she was sure it really was fine.

Everyone here knew of Maria’s predicament, and no wonder. Maria had been abundantly clear the first time, when she’d broken down and become so disconsolate, Thora the blacksmith had to carry her out of the room. The only thing Maria remembered clearly from that day was Thora’s angry grunt of ‘_what bumbling fool shut the door on an old war-prisoner?’_

No one repeated that mistake, and Maria was very grateful for their understanding.

Maria could handle her fear in the castle, but here, with _Michalis_ laying right in front of her, her mind conjured an endless amount of old ghosts. And she had nothing to shield her from it. Minerva wasn’t here with her.

She forced her legs to move, and with the first step, everything else came easier. She pulled out her stool, put a mending staff over her knees, and closed her eyes.

She tried to get a sense of where his body was failing.

His lungs were bad, a good portion of his right lung was collapsed and parts of his left lung had, like Amira said it, _popped_ (and that was really the best way to describe it). That was nothing new. He breathed, and the rest of his tissues didn’t seem to be suffering for it, so it was enough.

He was cold, though. That was new. Maria tried to have Earth magic breathe new warmth into his blood.

_It’s your fault I can’t breathe behind closed doors_. Her magic faltered, but she insisted; she let the thought come, let the tears run, and continued nonetheless.

_It’s your fault I’ve killed._

_It’s your fault no one got to see me grow._

The tears kept coming, and she still didn’t try to stop them. Instead, she took a better hold of her staff and focused on the soft magic of the earth.

_It’s all your fault, isn’t it? Isn’t it? ...Is it..?_

In the cocoon of nurturing magic, the tears didn’t smart in the corner in her eyes, and she could breathe normally despite them, though the sorrow wasn’t relieved. Not even Earth could heal the deep ache of the heart.

_Please, just let me speak to you._

The silence was ever-lasting, no matter how long she waited. Like every time before, Maria’s thoughts were not returned. Michalis' mind was somewhere far away, and nothing could force him back.

_Please, brother_, Maria begged into the emptiness. _Please don’t die… Don’t die before I can tell you… I want to forgive you._


	7. Letters from Abroad

The blossoms on the trees had gone into full bloom, their pollen moving like mist over the castle courtyard.

Spring had truly arrived. Farmers sowed their fields, carpenters worked on the projects that had been laid to rest during the winter, and merchants took to the road and shared their wares and stories with anyone willing to stop for them.

Perfect weather for travelling.

Minerva opened the stable doors, with Palla at her heel, and the sun warmed the spiraling dust around her feet. Nothing about the air around her indicated any sort of threat of natural disaster.

Perfect weather for travelling, Minerva repeated to herself. Really.

_She’s in danger_.

Despite her efforts, Minerva’s thoughts kept crashing into her like chimes of disagreement.

_She’ll die. She’ll die. Obey._

Minerva frowned so deep her forehead hurt. ‘_Obey what, exactly?’_ she tried to ask herself, but to no avail. She still battled the feeling of her heart getting sucked into a void, and the urge to bend her head and curl inwards.

Three years was not enough time to forget, and after a full week without the sight of Maria at the dinner table, Minerva’s mind didn’t give her a moment’s peace.

It didn’t matter. It didn’t change anything – she wouldn’t _let _it change anything. Maria needed this. Minerva knew she did. She needed to be somewhere new, somewhere far away from all the burdens Macedon entailed. And perhaps she needed to be apart from Minerva, too. Create her own life. _Like someone with a normal upbringing would_.

Hera’s head appeared from behind the stable box, and frowned right back at Minerva, like she asked ‘_what is your problem?’ _– and not in a particularly polite way. She picked up on Minerva’s moods almost the second Minerva entered the stables, which was both a blessing and a pain. Though mostly a pain.

Minerva rested her arms on the fence of planks, and tried to relax her face. “Rest’s over”, she told Hera. “Let’s go.”

Hera scoffed and smacked her lips, but she knew there was no point in resisting. That meant no flying, and for all her quirks, she seemed to love the sky, too. And, just like Titania, she hated to be outdone by a pegasus. The sight of Palla saddling her stallion got her up to her feet, and quick to accept Minerva’s bridle.

Despite the sun and warmth in the capital, as soon as Minerva and Palla left the castle grounds, the rain began. The kind that wasn’t falling to the ground and instead hovered in the air like tiny droplets – the kind that prickled like a thousand daggers to a sky knight’s unfortunate face.

Neither riders nor mounts minded, though. For Minerva, being on a wyvern’s back calmed her alarming thoughts somewhat, prickles or no, and Palla put her arms out and let the rain hit her face while her pegasus mirrored her with his wings spread wide through the air.

With the sunlight still spreading through the clouds, every color was drawn out of the sky and surrounded her in the glisten of the raindrops.

That’s what Minerva wrote in her first letter.

The third week, Minerva could finally breathe. The courier had arrived in the early morning, and among the many important documents and messages, only one carried the ten-armed star on its envelope – the seal of Khadein.

The first moment Minerva had to spare that evening, she carefully broke the seal and let the letter fall into her hand. Palla had curled herself up on the arm of the armchair, her head resting on Minerva’s shoulder.

_Hi, Minerva!_

The ink smudged before her eyes. She couldn’t fight it.

_I was so happy when I got your letter! It rained here when I arrived, too! As soon as I walked past the magic sandstorm wall (I’m sure you remember that one), the rain washed over me! Lucky we packed my books in wooden casings; thanks for that idea, Palla (I’m assuming you’re reading as well)._

_Anyway, I’ve gotten my room inside the university – I’m neighbor with a girl who seems really sweet, and they’d made toasted bread in the kitchen and I got so warm from eating them, I’m sure there’s a magical component in there, somewhere._

_Merric took it upon himself to show me around. He’s a Master here, and that’s really neat! I know there’s so much he can teach me, and it’s so nice to see him again. I just have to get used to the sight of him having a beard, first._

Minerva chuckled through her tears, and she felt Palla’s cheek tense against her shoulder as she smiled, too.

_Apparently, they teach music here, as well. My neighbor Arai says she plays the flute, and needs someone to accompany her on the lute. Maybe I should give it a try? It might be fun!_

_It’s really lovely to finally be here, finally. I’m so excited I don’t know where to begin. Don’t worry though, I haven’t forgotten any of you back home!_

_I miss you a lot, actually. Hope to hear from you again, soon!_

_-Maria_

Minerva didn’t want to put the letter down. Didn’t want to let it go. It was Palla who finally took it out of her hands, very gently, and put it on the table beside them.

“Are you all right?” she asked with a smile and her thumb brushing Minerva’s tears away.

“Couldn’t be better”, Minerva answered honestly, and returned the smile.

Palla slid into her lap, still brushing at her cheeks, and rested against her chest. Minerva held her in place with an arm around her back, and her face warmed by Palla’s breaths.

Her mind was finally quiet, and every other letter lay unread and unimportant on her desk, far, far behind her.

\---

The Sky Tree bloomed late that year. Minerva learned that from the blue petals that found their way even behind the castle walls.

One landed on their windowsill as Minerva gazed outside, and she had to wake Palla just to show it to her. As expected, the thought of seeing the shimmering blue for herself overcame any sleepiness on Palla’s part; she arose almost immediately, her eyes alight.

Palla put her hands on the reinforced glass, her face reflected back at Minerva.

“I wish I could open this window”, she whispered.

Minerva put her arm around her, carefully, silently grieving the impossibility of the idea. “We can venture out to the center square and pick a petal of our own from the ground”, she suggested instead.

“No, that won’t do”, Palla smiled, and her hand softened against the glass. “This petal _chose_ us.”

Another gust of wind, and the petal was gone. Palla put her hand back at her side, and leaned into Minerva instead.

“The Sky Tree blessed us”, she smiled. “Isn’t that a sign of a love everlasting?”

“Your belief in the Sky Tree legend continues to surprise me”, Minerva chuckled. “Then again, I believe you told me you went out there to find answers in the middle of the night. When you were what, fifteen?”

Palla’s throat grew red. “Well, I find the tale to be romantic regardless if it’s true or not, and what’s wrong with that? A tree still nurtured from the love between two people a millennia ago... It’s a powerful legend, you’ve got to admit it.”

Minerva only answered with a smile against her cheek, and despite not believing in it herself, she felt grateful to the joy a single petal on the windowsill could bring to the one she loved.

Maybe there was some truth to the legend then, after all.

The people of Macedon certainly seemed to think so; everywhere within the kingdom’s borders, weddings were arranged. If one managed to get a day anywhere close to the mere week the Sky Tree was in bloom, great fortune would bless their union. Superstition, since scholars had never found any evidence of that ‘_great fortune_’ being real, but most Macedonans thought it better to be safe than sorry.

Though it wasn’t just in Macedon that unions of love thrived. In the midst of Minerva trying to balance the complaints she got from the priories of the priests and clerics not getting enough time off to rest during this week, she picked up a letter from the pile she’d placed on the floor beside her armchair.

Thick paper that sparkled white despite its journey hinted that it was no ordinary letter, and once Minerva turned it around and saw the Archanean royal seal, she knew for sure that it wasn’t.

She waved it gently in Palla’s direction, and Palla caught the hint, put her own documents down in her lap and leaned over.

The seal was made from flawless wax and stamped into the shape of the fire emblem, and once Minerva broke it, the smell of roses spread through the room with a swirl of magic. Palla’s fingers swept through the pink swirls, a frown on her face, before she leaned even closer to get a look at the actual contents of the envelope as Minerva pulled it out.

The letters inside sparkled like liquid gold, surrounded by stags and roses and butterflies painted in silver.

Queen Minerva of Macedon;

** _Her Excellence, Empress Nyna of Archanea_ **

_invites You to her Royal Union with_

** _His Royal Highness, Prince Hardin of Aurelis_ **

_come summer’s first light._

_You are expected to attend in Your finest, and to renew Your Promise of Fidelity to the Archanean Empire with Your attendance._

_You may bring a total of six guards, and a companion of choice to follow You. Neither are allowed further than the Palace Courtyard. Breach of this protocol will be seen as an act of war._

_Acknowledge Your invitation before spring’s last night, and You will be treated as Our honored guest. _

_Her Excellence and His Highness sends their Regards_

_Signed:_

_High Councillor, Boah Silverthread_

“What a... charming invite”, Minerva mumbled. Her throat felt thick with the perfume.

Palla took the letter and brought it closer to the firelight. The letters seemed to be hovering above the confinement of the paper, like magic-infused stars.

“Considering what happened at Marth’s and Caeda’s wedding”, she said with a glance at Minerva, “it makes sense that they’d proceed with caution. And the forced attendance makes sense too, although I don’t think it has been as harshly worded toward, say, Altea or Talys.”

The letters glared at Minerva as she fixed her gaze upon them. She understood exactly what the meaning beneath them was. _You’ve been an enemy once, and we’re making sure you know we won’t tolerate anything but your complete subordination._

“That business aside...” Palla frowned deeper for a moment, eyes resting on the hovering letters. “This wedding is quite sudden, isn’t it?”

“Neither Nyna nor Hardin has exchanged words with me personally for a long time”, Minerva answered. “I assume they must have planned this before being public about it. Archanea is... different.”

“Not that I spoke much to Nyna herself”, Palla said, “but I’m happy for Hardin. He’s a great man, and he was obviously devoted to her from the very beginning. I can only assume Nyna returns that devotion, then.”

The memory of Nyna’s screams of horror as the one she’d admitted to love was struck down in the midst of war sprouted within Minerva. Her voice and her pain, amplified by thunder. And Minerva couldn’t help but silently wonder if Nyna’s heart had forgotten such agony and turned her affections to another – Minerva hoped so, for her sake.

“It’s sweet, I think”, Palla added with a smile and another quick glance on Minerva. “Unions of love, all over the continent.”

_Yes_, Minerva thought in answer, regarding the light as it flickered over Palla’s skin. _Could be more, though. _Her mind stopped at that, unable to bring to words what came to her as a sensation of warmth.

“Would you like to be my ‘_Companion of Choice_’?” Minerva asked instead.

Palla chuckled. “Well, if you’d have me, I’d be honored. We should ask if Maria has received a similar invite first, though – this letter is solely addressed to you, after all. And it would be a shame for her to miss such an event. She cares more about such things than I do.”

Minerva reached for the letter and placed it on the side of their bed. “That’s considerate”, she smiled, and the thought of wording another message to Maria ignited her will to carry on through the burdens that were spread in the form of documents all around her. “Back to work, first?”

“Did we ever stop?” Palla stretched her legs and grinned, as she once again began sorting the papers for Minerva to review, handing her reports of increased pirate raids in Grust, rude trade demands from Aurelis and suggestions of cooperative ship-building from Altea.

The room still smelled of roses, but without Palla’s smile and the glow of her skin in the firelight, the smell wasn’t intoxicating. In fact, coupled with trying to read small letters in dim darkness, Minerva all it did was give her a headache.


	8. Potato Pie

Maria had sent ten letters, and when Minerva sent her eleventh, that marked the two and a half months that had passed since the beginning of spring and Maria’s departure.

Minerva was used to the quiet during dinner. She was used to the vacant council chair, and the lack of healer’s gossip. It was bearable, _normal_, and much of that she owed to Palla.

_We’ll make a home of this_, she’d said. And one slowly formed, in the rhythm of Palla’s breaths and the light behind her smile.

In all honesty, Minerva felt more at peace than she’d remembered herself doing for the last decade. The hour was late, though by then it was routine practice for the kitchen staff to save the food they made for everyone stationed at the castle and keep it warm for when the Queen finally had time to enter her private dining hall. And once she did, her mind calmed.

Live candles flickered from the iron chandelier, and the noise of the castle couldn’t reach through the doors. Boiled spring greens warmed her mouth as she ate; and with all that, she didn’t mind the work she brought with her even here.

Palla usually helped with the documents Minerva brought with her to the dinner table, or eased a word or two into the silence, but this time, she quickly sorted through the pile of newly arrived letters between them. When she didn’t find what she was looking for, she shrunk down and rested her head in her hand. Eyes set on her plate as she poked around with her food.

Minerva pushed her documents to the side, put her hand on top of Palla’s.

“She’ll write soon”, Minerva said with conviction. “I’m sure of it.”

Palla smiled, but did not lift her gaze. “I know that she’s busy, and to be fair, she did write four weeks ago. I love Maria’s letters, but every time I read them I think...” She trailed off, shrugged. “It’s her nameday, soon.”

She poked around her plate some more, focused her gaze on the crust of a pie stabbed thrice over by her fork.

“Est loved potatoes so much as a child”, Palla continued, her smile remaining but tears gleaming in the corners of her eyes. “When we got wheat and butter for once, Est would parade around our home and chant ‘_potato pie_’ until she was hoarse. My pies were actually terrible, but she loved them. She wanted those for her nameday, even though it was impossible.”

Minerva moved her fingers over Palla’s wrist. Her heart and mind were still shrouded in peace, her own warm memories of Est gently lulling her.

“Wouldn’t you like to visit her?” she asked.

In a way, Minerva surprised herself by speaking. Her heart was fully open for every change of pitch in Palla’s voice; she’d understood and known what to ask without thinking, and she didn’t regret her words. The way Palla’s eyes shot up from the plate, the way her face slowly lifted from the pressure of her palm; it warmed her more than fear of abandonment chilled her.

“In Altea?” Palla gasped. “How could I? You would be— ”

“Don’t think about me.” Minerva interrupted and met her gaze, her chest warm with laughter. “I wouldn’t want to miss Maria’s nameday for the world, as you know. It’s only fair you should get the same chance. You and Catria could both go, right? I feel... Pretty decent at acting like royalty, at least for the moment. I can handle a week or two on my own.”

“It—“ Palla interrupted herself, put her fork down. “It’s far too early to say, I’d have to ask Catria, and... couldn’t you come, too?”

“I’d love to”, Minerva smiled and let go of her hand. “But with the Archanean-Aurelian union happening soon, I’d have to get as much work done before then as possible. Since I haven’t got a choice in whether I go or not.”

“Right.” Palla nodded and frowned. “I’ll wait until after that, then.”

“It’s still a month ahead of time.” Minerva hoped she remembered it correctly, but she was fairly certain. “Her nameday is long before then. Why don’t you take a few days out on the Altean shores, wake up surrounded by your family, and make nameday buns for Est on the spot? I’ll come with you next time you go, once the new Archanea has been settled and I can safely leave Macedon.”

_I am a queen before a sister or beloved_, she thought, an echo of a phrase she’d heard once before, spoken by none other than Marth. But she wasn’t fully convinced it could ever apply to her, with her heart leading her in one direction and the path she’d had no choice but to walk in another, when really all she wanted was to leave all thought of royalty behind.

Her longing was all too palpable as she once again smiled. “Once I come too, we could walk along the sand and the waves as the sun sets.”

A light ignited behind Palla’s eyes. “What a bold suggestion, my dear highness. In this future, could I perchance... also hold your hand?”

“Why”, Minerva teased back. “What would be next? Bathing in the moonlight?”

They both laughed. Quiet, soft laughter. And when Palla answered, she looked Minerva right in the eye, with no trace of doubt. Only gratitude, and relief, and clearest of all, yearning.

“I look forward to it”, she smiled. “Thank you, Minerva.”

\---

It was nigh morning, yet the sunlight was strong over the stable grounds. Dawn came earlier the further spring progressed, though the sun provided more brightness than warmth. Both Palla and Catria were dressed in thick woolen cloaks to keep the cold out, the fluff of fur around their collars and wrists tightly fitted to not let heat escape from underneath.

“You know what would be funny?” Catria wasn’t bothered by the spring chill, she grinned wide as she could while she prepared her saddle and pulled her cloak straighter over her shoulders. “If Palla and I got there before our letter, Est won’t have a clue we’re coming!”

Minerva believed Palla would chastise her for such a suggestion, but instead she gave a patient nod. “We could pretend to be customers to her shop”, Palla agreed. “Ring the bell on the cashier desk, then bring up presents as she comes to sell things to us.”

“I _love _that”, Catria laughed. “Although we should take a serious look around the shop. I _am_ actually curious what she and Abel’s got in that business of theirs. Knowing Est, it’s got to be some weird trinkets or two. Commander, should we get you anything?”

“A magical problem-solving, self-writing pen”, Minerva answered, trying not to laugh and break face, but Catria saw right through her.

“I’ll ask if she has one that yells at councillors too, while I’m at it”, she grinned, and mounted.

It was a signal she was ready to leave, but Palla lingered on the ground, her fingers finding the back of Minerva’s hand. Minerva responded with a smile.

“Fly safe”, she said.

“Always will”, Palla answered and placed a soft kiss on her cheek in the same movement as her embrace. “We’ll take the longer route to avoid crossing Doluna, I promise.” 

“As if dragons ever scared us”, Catria chuckled and tightened her reins. “Now come on, Palla, I don’t want to miss our window of surprise!”

Palla rested her head on Minerva’s shoulder for a few moments more, before she backed away a step and adjusted the provisions slung over her back. 

“We’ll be back in a week”, she promised. Minerva smiled and stroked Palla’s cheek, before she let her hand fall.

By the time they’d flown out of sight, Minerva was already back at her working desk, but her cheek was still warm from Palla’s breaths.

\---

A castle full of servants had never been so empty.

Minerva didn’t handle loneliness well. She’d created an armor of people she loved and trusted around her, ever since the fateful day she’d learned her life was in her brother’s hands. She wasn’t used to being without that armor. She was stronger now, though. Freer too, in a sense. She’d meant every word she’d said to Palla and Maria – they shouldn’t have to coddle her or force themselves through hardships every day for her sake.

Minerva didn’t fear adversity. How could she? This was nothing in comparison to what she’d faced in the past. It was nothing.

She stood by her window, followed the sky knights with her gaze as they cast shadows through the reinforced metal.

Nothing, just a week alone.

Minerva felt her stomach twist. That feeling usually came before any conscious thought on her part, but the thought that followed was always a dark one. A memory of isolation, of terror, of the last time she’d seen her sister’s face.

She clenched her hands on the windowsill, her nails scraping against stone. She was vulnerable as soon as she let her thoughts catch up to her. She should busy her mind with something worthwhile.

She turned to her door, and was about to push it open when a timid knock hammered against the wood.

“Your majesty?” The voice was but a peep, and not a familiar one.

Minerva felt ice move over her face, and she pulled her knife from her belt and hid it behind her back in the same movement. She glanced over to the bed frame where Hauteclere rested, weighing the need of wielding it.

An attacker wouldn’t make themselves known like that. On the other hand, assassins played on their target’s sense of security; they might want for Minerva to open the door and not expect a threat.

She wasn’t a fool. The chances might be slim, but she wouldn’t be taken by surprise. Not after what happened the last time she let her guard down.

She reached for Hauteclere, rested it against the wall so that she could take it and swing it within a heartbeat, should the need arise. Then she pushed the door open, adjusting her hold on her knife. Ready for anything.

Except for the sight of a kitchen maid with soot on her cheeks and flour on her apron.

“Your Majesty!” The girl let out a barely audible squeak, and shrunk down like she was trying to hide in her collar. “Oh—oh—I’m so sorry for disturbing you!”

Minerva’s hold on the knife relaxed, but not fully. She glanced down the stairs behind the girl. There was no one else there, no gleam of an arrow or glow from magic.

It didn’t make sense, though; kitchen maids never ventured up to the royal chambers. Something wasn’t right.

“Are you lost?” Minerva asked, trying not to sound rude.

The girl shook her head with another distressed squeak. “N-no! I am— I was the closest, that is, uhm... I know it’s early in the morning, but a messenger from Altea has arrived! She said she had an emergency message, but she wasn’t allowed in by the guards this early, and sent me to— Uhm—“

The maid paused, and did not seem intent on starting anew. Instead, she reached a wrinkly piece of paper toward Minerva. When Minerva didn’t move to take it, her eyes widened, and she bowed. As if that was the reason Minerva wouldn’t accept her strange piece of paper.

“You’d deliver a message to your Queen from a questionable source”, Minerva said with narrowed eyes. “Just like that?”

The girl paled. “Uhm, n-no? I mean, yes—The messenger crossed _Doluna_ to deliver this as fast as possible.” The girl shuddered at the thought. “It must be important, I figured, and she said it’s from Dame Palla, so I thought—“

Minerva reached her hand out. Her hesitation forgotten. She even managed an apologetic smile at the kitchen maid, despite her bones feeling cold as ice.

This was the fourth day since Palla’s departure. Was she writing home to tell Minerva she’d arrived safely?

_Why would that be an emergency? _Minerva’s fingers barely functioned as she grasped the piece of paper.

One of her nails bled after being scraped against the windowsill, and the blood stained the corners of the envelope. Minerva barely noticed.

Her mind burned like fire with straightforward plans, as the soldier within her would respond to any sudden situation. _Axe. Stable._ _Hera. Go. Fight._

Another part of her held back, pressed her to gather the information she needed before she sprang into a conclusion. _Read first_, her mind agreed._ Then axe, then stable, then—_

She opened the letter without breathing. She didn’t notice whether the kitchen maid left or stayed, her full focus on deciphering the penmanship.

There wasn’t a doubt it belonged to Palla; Minerva had seen the elegant swirl more times than she could count, but even here, something was off. The handwriting was sloppy, as though Palla’s hands had trembled as much as Minerva’s did as she began to read the contents of the letter.

_My love,_

_I cannot begin to tell you how sorry I am. But I will not be coming home as planned._

Minerva read the same sentence twice over before she understood it, her blood rushing to her head. It did nothing to alleviate the screaming questions in her mind.

_The world is cruel. It never stops taking from us. I mustn’t let Est be one of those things it takes._

_You remember the reports of pirate raids in Grust this winter, I’m sure. It wasn’t different bands, as one would logically think; it was the same crew. Every raid. They plagued Grust from north to south, and before returning home, they hit western Altea._

_This was a mere two days before Catria and I arrived._

_We found Est’s home to be empty. The town was in dire shape, and Abel was gravely injured during the raid. Altean soldiers managed to hunt the pirates off their shores before any mortal casualties befell them, but Est is missing._

The ink was smudged, the edges of the letters running down toward the bottom of the paper.

Minerva’s thumb trailed the trace of Palla’s tear. Still couldn’t breathe.

_ Abel and Est were the only veterans in the village, and they took the first stand against the raiders. Abel is weak from his injuries, but he told us of how Est singlehandedly mounted her Pegasus and took flight right at the pirate captain in the far rear._

_Abel fought to reach her, but was overwhelmed. And when the pirates retreated, they took only what they could reach. Meaning, Est._

_She couldn’t fight them all._

Sparks rained before Minerva’s inner eyes. Sparks, as Est shot through the flaming towers of Grust, foolhardy, aggressive and fearless.

The Firefly.

Taken down by filthy pirates.

_The ship sailed west. According to reports from survivors in Grust, they hail from Valentia._

_It’s not a legend, Minerva. Valentia is real, and they’ve taken my sister. Abel swears they took her alive, but_

The sentence ended there. Palla had not needed to finish it. Minerva understood.

_Marth has given us a ship that can sail west. The western ocean is a cruel, untameable beast, and all ships that venture out there sink eventually – but if Marth’s ship takes us far enough and then turn back around, Catria and I will fly the rest of the way. _

_We cannot afford to delay._

_And we cannot afford to let this threaten you, either. I realize what you must be thinking, but I could not ask for your assistance. Macedon needs her queen._

_We are your friends, and I am yours truly, but even so, I could never be the cause for more of Macedon’s strife. I could never forgive myself._

_I am deeply sorry, Minerva._

_I swear I will update you on our progress, as far as I can. Our connections with Valentia are scarce, but I will do my utmost to send word to you._

_And even if I may never reach you again, I hope this letter does, and does so in your good health._

_I’m eternally happy to have been able to receive your affection. Nothing else will bring me the same joy. I will fight to return to your side, I swear to you. I love you._

_Do not come for me_

_  
-Palla_

“Your majesty”, a voice called to her. “Your majesty, please, sit down— Oh goodness—“

_Sit_. Minerva sank down on the stairs, finally letting go of her breath as she did.

The shallow gasps didn’t help. Her head kept spinning, a slimy coil wringing inside her gut.

Her plans. She should get her axe, she should get Hera, she should—

She shouldn’t.

_Do not come for me_, Palla’s voice rang to her, the letters dancing in front of her eyes. The words slowly sinking in, like rain soaked dry earth.

Palla was gone. And did not want Minerva to pursue.

“Your Majesty”, the kitchen maid gasped to her, hands waving in front of her like she didn’t dare touch her. “Should I— Should I get you something? A glass of water?”

Minerva sucked in another breath. “Tell...” Her voice rang surprisingly clear; when she gave a command, she never faltered. “...Tell the councillors that I will be a little bit _late_, will you?”

The girl nodded quickly, and in the next moment, she was gone.

Minerva was left on the stairs.

The bloodstain from her finger crawled over Palla’s signature, the ink melting into an unsalvageable crimson emptiness, blurred before Minerva’s unfocused gaze.


	9. A World of Marble

Three years had brought change to the Palace of Archanea.

When Minerva had last walked its courtyard, it had been withered from neglect. The grand halls had lain raided and cold, visible through gaping windows. There wasn’t a trace to be found of that past, now.

An oiled wooden door bathed in summer’s first light met Minerva’s entourage as she arrived. The door was carved with exquisite patterns that told the story of the League’s reclaiming of the palace and Nyna’s ascendance to the throne. Colored like a stained glass window with craft so precise; it barely looked made by human hands. Minerva, having grown a bit more accustomed to learning about other resources besides those that were required for war, estimated that this piece of wooden art probably cost more than a quarter of Macedon castle.

And that was just the entrance.

When she entered the first courtyard of the outer palace ward, she could have mistaken it for another plane of reality. Delicate fountains surrounded her, scrubbed clean from moss and mold. The grass was cut short, framing statues adorned with hundreds of roses. The walkways were marked out by hedges and gravel-covered paths, without a leaf or pebble out of place.

Right in the middle of it all towered a statue of marble on top of a podium, depicting Nyna, her arm resting in Hardin’s, her face regal and heart-rendingly beautiful.

It was an impressive likeness, probably made for just this occasion.

Even so, Minerva didn’t feel much awe. She was here because she had to be.

Right beneath the statue, two dozen soldiers were standing in a row. That marked the point where no one except those with the formal invite was allowed to cross.

Only Minerva.

_Only Minerva._

Minerva glanced back on her little entourage. Rivan was there, his mouth open in stunned silence as he looked around. He, at least, was something familiar. An anchor of sorts. The only one she had left. Minerva hated the thought of proceeding without him, but she didn’t have any choice on the matter.

Or perhaps that was just what she was telling herself.

A dark piece of her soul had considered if it was worth walking into another war, if that meant she could cross the ocean. A dark piece of her soul that had shrunk down in shame and drowned in the words spelled out in front of her within her mind’s eye.

_Do not come for me_.

No, there wasn’t much else she could do but wait. She’d reached out her hand to the emptiness and accepted it.

Minerva drew a deep breath and raised her arm. In one immediate motion, her entourage halted. She didn’t look back, but she knew they must be gaping at the wonders around them despite their disciplined stance.

She’d gladly have traded a spot with them; the stairs loomed endlessly in front of her. She breathed deeply yet again, and continued on her own.

The stair steps were uncomfortably high, and with her limited capability to move her left leg, the ascension into the inner ward took far longer than the guards had the patience for. They glared at her, as though they believed she was planning something devious and stalled them on purpose. She tried to not return their glares.

Without any weapons, and with the guards being armed to the teeth, she felt a bit too vulnerable for her liking. The whispers of Hauteclere couldn’t possibly reach her since she’d left it hidden in Macedon, but she could still imagine its power’s thrill in her bones. Whispers that she wasn’t weak, and she wouldn’t be frightened by a single pair of guards.

What _did_ frighten her was the thought of her not managing to hide Hauteclere well enough. Perhaps she’d return to Macedon and the axe would have chosen someone else, someone ready to relieve her of the throne. It was a foolish thought, but she’d been in a daze when she hid it, just as she’d been for the last three weeks, so it might not have been a good enough job—

Five different bells tolled in perfect harmony as the doors to the throne room opened for her. The sound hit her in the chest, igniting a fire inside her for the fraction of a breath.

Almost three years of relative safety, yet she still jumped at any sign at danger. She quenched the fear as the doors slammed shut behind her.

She’d wished at least Maria had been there, but that too had been impossible. Maria had initially declined the offer of being Minerva’s companion to make room for Palla, and once she’d learned of the changed situation, there hadn’t been enough time for her to journey from Khadein.

Though in a way, it was better for her to be spared from this occasion. Maria might have wanted to see the Archanea she’d helped save, but everything was so different and pompous, now. An exaggeration, an overachieving demand of the visitor to forget the horrendous past – which only worked to make the hidden horrors _more_ palpable. This was a dolled up haunted house, where the ghosts still seeped out through every perfect, polished pillar.

Maria would only have been disappointed. Goodness knew Minerva was – though the constant hollow feeling in her chest didn’t exactly make a good foundation for her to think many positive thoughts, so that was expected.

She clenched her jaw and walked on. Half of the throne room was bursting of nobles showing off Archanea’s and Aurelis’ colors, and a few dozen wore the colors of Talys and Altea. Minerva was the only one with Macedonan red; a glaring, sore thumb that towered over every single one of the other guests. A servant bowed to her and gestured for her to follow, folding neatly between rows whereas Minerva bumped into most of them with the same elegance as if she’d been wading through knee-deep water.

On her journey through the crowded room, she spotted two other guests who also contrasted the rest – Minerva immediately recognized the earthly bronze and violet that signified Gra, and the black and silver for Grust.

Former enemies of Archanea, and thus former alliances of Macedon; surely they’d received an invitation with similar wordings as Minerva’s. Those two were political requirements rather than cherished friends, and Minerva was led to join them in one of the far-end corners at the back of the room. Which was slightly strange.

She didn’t read into it, tried to ignore the way her stomach twisted. Perhaps this was the event-planners considering her size, as to not block the view for so many – but it sent such an alienating signal, she wasn’t sure.

A noble behind her cleared his throat and glared up at her when she took her place, and she shrugged at him, gestured at him to stand in front of her. He gave an indignant scoff, and didn’t move.

Then what did he clear his throat for? Asking her to shrink? _Asking her to leave?_

She swallowed the lump in her throat, as the five bells tolled again and another noble guest arrived. The wedding wouldn’t begin until everyone was there, and Minerva had no idea how long that would take. The hall was filled with murmurs, as the waiting nobles took the opportunity to build bridges and alliances.

Minerva regarded her only two companions amidst the mess.

The one wearing Gra’s colors, Princess Sheena, was tall enough to reach Minerva’s shoulders, wearing a bronze crown braided into her brown hair. She couldn’t be more than twelve years old, yet she stood all on her own in a sea of strangers with her head held high.

Minerva did her best to smile as their eyes met.

“Greetings”, she said, trying to speak softly to keep from intimidating her.

Princess Sheena only nodded, but the man beside her happily took the opportunity to take part in a conversation.

He was older than Minerva by at least three decades, and he kept his right eye covered by a black patch lined with silver. The regent of Grust, Lorenz.

“Ah! Salutations, Queen Minerva”, he answered, a wide smile on his face.

“General Lorenz”, Minerva said with a dip of her head. “It’s been too long. His Majesty is not here, I take it?”

General Lorenz let out a chuckle. Minerva had only met the man once, and briefly. In the immediate aftermath of the war, Archanea had called for a meeting between regents of all nations, and Lorenz had burst into that room carrying a five-year-old prince on his hip.

Lorenz had cast aside his loyalties to Grust as a general during the war, and when the League came to conquer, Lorenz had disobeyed orders and stayed to protect the king’s children from harm instead of taking to the field. By his rebellion, he’d been recognized as a suitable regent until the king’s children were old enough to rule – under Archanean supervision, as was the case for most of Doluna’s former allies. Minerva hadn’t felt he was a bad choice then, and she didn’t know, either.

“His Majesty is eight years old, my Queen”, Lorenz answered her. “The invite to this wedding was addressed to me, and what a relief – that young king cannot stand still for two minutes, much less an entire wedding ceremony! He could learn a thing or two from Princess Sheena, here.”

“I wasn’t standing still much when I was eight, either”, Sheena snapped. Her voice rang like a child’s, shrill and small despite her size. Minerva could see an annoyed frown form on her forehead.

“Be that as it may”, Lorenz smiled. “It’s lovely to have you join us, Queen Minerva.”

“Yeah, welcome to the Loser-Corner”, Sheena muttered under her breath and glared out over the room in front of her.

Her words drooped of bile, a righteous annoyance that spread over to Minerva as she watched Marth and Caeda get front-row elevated seats, beside Elice and Hardin’s brother Ulvin. Minerva had been part of them before, been at least somewhat celebrated as a warrior for justice and freedom; now she stood branded as an antagonist, one of the defeated.

She tried to persuade herself she didn’t care. She minded her business, and the rest of the kingdoms handled theirs – at least Archanea wasn’t pressing down on Macedon the same way they did on Grust and Gra. How strange it must be for Sheena, still just a child, to bow down and celebrate the ones who killed her father, with a purpose to rebuild an already struggling nation with nothing but an empty title, surrounded by indifference from all sides.

That wasn’t how a child was supposed to grow. Minerva was overwhelmed by the sudden urge to lay a hand on Sheena’s shoulder and promise her that she, and Macedon, would do all in their power to help her so that she could have someone to rely on.

She quickly pushed the thought out of her head; Minerva had enough problems on her own, couldn’t make promises that might doom them both. Though perhaps she could open more favorable trade routes to Gra in the future – her treasure master might not be happy about it, but that almost made her feel more eager to try it. She needed something to make her feel alive; a project, a goal.

And if this was where the Archanean royalty thought Minerva belonged, she might as well be a part of a conversation with her seating partners. The silence around them had grown uncomfortable after Sheena’s comment.

“I received reports on the pirate situation in Grust”, Minerva said – it was the only thing she could think of, considering the circumstances. “I am glad to hear Gra was spared.”

She tried her best to sound unaffected, but a cold shudder moved over her neck. It was half true, in a sense; she _was _glad Sheena hadn’t suffered through that, though if the pirates had chosen Gra instead of Altea, Est wouldn’t be...

“Maybe they knew they’d be disappointed if they raided us”, Sheena shrugged, still wearing a frown, but her shoulders got a little bit less tense. “My people trade with ore chunks instead of gold, and they would eat the ore too if they could.”

“It’s been a tough winter for both of us”, Lorenz agreed and leaned closer to them. “But I’m sorry, princess Sheena, I think you should show some reverence to the Queen’s words. Those pirates would steal everything regardless if it held value or not. They were a merciless lot - and fast, too! They had but one ship, such an extraordinary one they could fit whole cottages on deck without issue and still cut the waves like cheese. The reports from survivors’ are honestly unbelievable. No one could possibly be rich enough to afford the construction of such a beast! Not even—!“

Lorenz interrupted himself and gestured up at the expensively adorned ceiling above them, and Minerva understood what he meant.

“I’m sorry my kingdom couldn’t end them”, he continued. “We might have been able to, but the—ah, that’s to say—the _requirement_ of Archanean permission delayed us... I couldn’t deploy any soldiers in time. I understand that the pirates gave you personal trouble, Queen Minerva. You have my sincerest condolences, and apologies.”

Minerva found it hard to breathe. She’d chosen the worst possible conversation topic, and had only herself to blame.

“The fault was not yours”, she said.

The last guests must have entered the room, because the doors were barred and locked with a loud slam, equal in volume to a dragon’s roar – and the moment after, the wedding began.

Minerva couldn’t count how many bells tolled. Her dizziness grew by the second as the crowd surged with even more intense sounds. Then came the trumpets, and the drums—

She clenched her jaw, set her eyes dead ahead. She’d get through this.

\---

As the ceremony pulled to a close, the guests were shown to the grand hall for dances and food. The ones furthest in the back of the throne room were meant to enter first, to Minerva’s’ surprise. The newlyweds would enter last, and that made more sense after Minerva understood she was meant to line up alongside the rest and courtesy as Nyna and Hardin did their progression toward the vast table of food.

Hardin shone like the sun as he walked; Aurelian green robes flowed behind him without a wrinkle, but his face was full of dimples as he smiled.

Nyna had her hand on top of his. Her face was stoic as ever, except for the corners of her lips. In her face, that must have been a joyful smile. She was generally unreadable, her blank eyes an unsettling reminder of the past. The palace might have changed, but Nyna hadn’t.

Her gaze travelled over Minerva, and like a shot of lightning, the memory of Camus appeared in her mind. Plunged face down into the mud, his back torn open by Minerva’s axe, and the screams of anguish that had followed.

Nyna looked away again. Nodded to the guests. Waved. Curtsied. Seemingly unaffected and content.

When they reached the table, the tension loosened, and the entire room mashed into an endless mingling as if on cue.

Minerva got a glass of sparkling apple wine in her hand. Unsure if it was impolite to refuse, she pretended to drink it, even though she barely wet her lips. She wasn’t hungry, she wasn’t thirsty; she just wanted to go home.

“Minerva!”

She was met by Caeda’s gentle smile as she danced through the crowd on light feet. Her arm hooked into Marth’s, who had to duck beneath a serving tray.

“You are a sight for sore eyes”, Caeda greeted her. “I need somewhere to hide. My father’s councillor has attempted to convince me to forward his clumsy flattery to that Aurelian councillor over there at least _three times_. I can’t believe it— Why can’t he make a move on his own and leave _me _out of it?”

That brought a small smile to Minerva. “I suppose they see you as an expert on love, considering your speech to the newlyweds during the ceremony?”

Caeda grimaced. “Did they miss the part about my confession to Marth and how that was almost completely thanks to Nyna? If she hadn’t insisted, we might not have had the courage to talk about it, and it was _Marth _who took the first step. How did I get perceived to be the expert?”

Her expression sobered, and she drew a deep breath, unhooking her arm from Marth’s.

“Under different circumstances, I might have been able to abide by the fun of it, but I’ve been feeling... frustrated these last few weeks. First we get assassins, then pirates! It’s—_unfair._” Her gaze didn’t falter, seemed to be searching for any sign of overstepping before she asked; “How have you been holding up, Minerva?”

Minerva lost feeling in her fingers. It was mere luck she didn’t drop her glass.

“Not very well”, she answered honestly.

Marth twisted uncomfortably, put a hand on the back of his neck before he arched it to look Minerva in the eye, too.

“I’m incredibly sorry for what happened”, he said. “I thought we were prepared, assassins considered, but the pirates were... So fast. In one moment they were there, the next, they—“

“It’s all right”, Minerva interrupted him. “The fault was not yours, nor was it Grust’s.

Her belly ached, and she sipped on her drink just to distract herself. She didn’t like hearing about this, she outright hated it. _The pirates were strong, they were fast, and they had resources that made Archanea look meagre_. And Palla was going to fight them. All of them.

Meanwhile, Minerva was stuck at a wedding, drinking apple wine that tasted like sour ashes.

Caeda gave a solemn nod. “We’re still sorry. I offered to go after Est too, but they wouldn’t let me. Catria said we all have enough keeping this continent together.”

“She had a point”, Marth said. “Unfortunately.”

Minerva spun her glass, like she’d seen some of the other nobles do. Hoped it didn’t have any hidden, rude meaning; the culture of Archanean high society was sown into every moment of this wedding, and she understood barely half of it.

“When did they leave port?” she asked, trying not to imagine the look of furious determination on Palla’s face as she’d been faced with this decision.

“Just a week after the raid”, Marth answered. “Elice gave them our best ship to take them as far as possible without endangering themselves. Since they said they could technically last a week while airborne, they promised if it was more than a three-day flight before they saw land they’d turn around. But they haven’t, so I suppose that means they’ve arrived in Valentia by now.”

Minerva nodded, her belly aching again. _Valentia_. The name was so unfamiliar; she’d heard the legends of different lands across the western sea, but not more than twice in her lifetime. How could there be a whole continent to the west when it was barely mentioned in the footnotes of Archanean history books? Maria had sent letters containing her research on the matter; a very, very short letter.

There had just been one book about ancient Divine Dragons that had mentioned how a pair of twins had tired of living in Naga’s shadow, and banished themselves to Valentia, which had been interpreted as a haven for dragons and inaccessible to humans for the remainder of the script.

Not much else could be found on the matter, at least not in the vast library of Khadein.

Minerva’s mind had drifted and could find nothing more to say. Neither Marth nor Caeda had the time to do so either, before they were enclosed on all sides by different conversation partners. It would have been incredibly rude to ignore them; although Caeda shot one more apologetic look on Minerva before her shape disappeared in the crowd.

Minerva missed them already. Apart from them, the regents of Gra and Grust and the bride and groom, she had no one else to speak to – and she didn’t expect the newlyweds to come talking to _her_. They’d already made it clear they were mindful of the vast amount of political toes they’d risk stepping on if they acknowledged her.

But Hardin could always surprise her, it seemed. He swept up to her from the sea of nobles in green and gold and blue, giddy in a way Minerva had never seen him before.

He smiled wide at her and gave a sloppy bow. “How _wonderful_ to see you accepted our invitation, Princess Minerva!”

Minerva arched a brow, but didn’t correct him. She had a feeling he wouldn’t hear her if she said ‘_it’s Queen now, actually_’ – and like she suspected, he continued speaking without waiting for her response.

“Must have been such a long trip for you! Oh, I am honored you took the time!”

Yet again, Minerva didn’t bother to address that. Hardin might not have been responsible for the dagger-sharp threat within the invitation, and if he thought she had come of her own free will, that was all the better.

“I hope you didn’t mind to be put in the back today”, Hardin went on, putting his glass away on a serving tray without looking. “To tell the truth, you are _quite _a bit taller than most of our other guests – I hope there are no hard feelings. I believe you saw enough, anyhow!”

He leaned forward, as if he planned to share a secret.

”Well, tell me the truth”, he whispered. “Wasn’t my Nyna _simply stunning_?”

Minerva could tell he loved to say it like that. _His _Nyna.

“None would dispute that”, she agreed. “I wish you both well.”

“Oh, thank you! Thank you, my friend; that means the world.” Hardin seemed close to tears as he put a hand on her arm. He wasn’t easily overwhelmed, Minerva knew that well enough, but she supposed he let his emotions run freely on such a day.

Minerva felt something sticky in the back of her neck as she tilted her head – she raised her hand to feel what it was, and found something stuck in her hair. She had to pull at it hard for it to come loose, and soon found herself looking down on a cherry-seed.

It must have gotten stuck there on accident. But it seemed to her that someone had chewed on it, and there were not many ways she could imagine a freshly chewed cherry-seed to end up in her hair.

She had not more than a moment to dwell on it before Hardin took sudden hold of her wrist and pulled her toward another end of the hall. She dropped the seed on the floor in surprise.

“Come now”, he said, almost frolicking through the crowd, ignoring the surprised looks around him. “There’s something we need to sort out! I imagine there’s no better chance!”

Minerva didn’t need to wonder what he meant for very long; Hardin stopped in front of his brother, the King of Aurelis. The first time Minerva had seen him had been after she’d invaded his kingdom and splintered his throne. He’d been ragged and dirty, and she’d threatened him through the bars of his own dungeon.

She’d seen him once or twice after that, and he’d always avoid her. First impressions of that character were difficult to forget, so Minerva didn’t blame him and tried to steer clear of him.

She couldn’t escape it now, though. Minerva made sure to bow respectfully at him, intent to not make anything worse.

“Your Majesty.”

She tried to sound kind, and yet the king skittered away like a frightened rabbit for a few steps before Hardin caught him by the arm.

“Oh no, you don’t! Come now, brother!” Hardin patted him on the shoulder as he led him closer to Minerva. “This is a joyous day, a day to lay old grudges to rest!”

The king glared at Minerva, clearly not of the same mind.

“Hardin, I refuse”, he said through clenched teeth.

Hardin merely laughed and clapped him on the shoulder again. “Nonsense! And by the way, I _outrank _you now, so I can make it an order if I like, ha-ha!”

To him, that had been a joke, but Minerva could see how King Ulvin grew pale with indignation.

“So, Princess Minerva”, Hardin continued happily. “It is time my brother actually asked you proper permission. Isn’t that right?”

The last part was directed at the king, who scowled and hid in his beard. His wife who stood at his side, looked far more relaxed. She even smiled politely at Minerva.

“Oh, of course”, she nodded. “After the Macedonan forces—and you among them—were hunted away from our castle, we found quite a few injured pegasi that had lost their riders. I personally took them in, and they thrived! They still do! They love our vast plains and high mountains, it’s really sweet to see! We’re hoping to have an air force of our own, don’t we, dear? Technically those pegasi are Macedon’s, but—”

“Agde, stop”, the king interrupted her. “Those pegasi are spoils of war. We don’t need to ask permission of any thrice-damned scum—“

“Come now, Ulvin!” Agde snapped back. “Be polite!”

Minerva simply stared at them. She wasn’t sure she understood what they were asking, exactly. The king was right, Minerva had no claim over spoils of war. She could simply tell them so and be on her way out of this uncomfortable situation, but one thought came to her mind that she couldn’t help indulging in. Hoping beyond hope—

“I have no qualms with you keeping them”, she told Agde. “However, is it to your knowledge if one of the pegasi is marked with dots of gold on their hooves? It’s a mare. She’s quite old, but her coat hasn’t gone gray yet – or it hadn’t three years ago when I saw her last.”

Agde broke into a more genuine smile. “Why, that sounds just like Snowbell! Oh, I’ve taken to naming them all, you see – they are _darling_ creatures, all of them!” Then her face grew more serious, and she lowered her voice. “Is Snowbell special? Do you want her back? Her wing’s so broken she can’t fly. But she’s such a dear, I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted her.”

“Snowbell”, Minerva repeated, a slight spread of warmth in her chest. “That’s a sweet name. We used to call her Tyra. She was my mother’s mount, and after her death, she carried my dear friend Est on her back. Worry not; Macedon will not try to reclaim her, nor any other in your care. I’m sure they’re perfectly happy with you. They would have let you know if they weren’t. Pegasi can be quite spoiled at times.”

Agde chuckled at that, covering her mouth with her hand. “Indeed! Oh, the stories I have – my life is never dull with them around.”

It did hurt Minerva a little bit to give up the chance of getting at least Tyra back to Castle Macedon, but she felt like she couldn’t possibly claim the Aurelians give anything back, when it was Minerva who had taken from them their peace and their lives.

But she dearly wished she’d be able to tell Est that her beloved old Tyra was safe.

If she ever got to see her again.


	10. Valentian Coast

_The dock on the island of Novis smelled of fish. And salt. So much salt, adding to the tears Celica had secretly cried beneath the deck of the ship._

_She hated going away. It wasn’t fair. Her friends were far away from her. It wasn’t fair! Mycen, the one who had called himself her protector... The one she’d trusted like a grandfather after he’d saved her from the burning mansion that would have been her grave... He’d deemed it best to leave her on an island with an old man she didn’t know._

_Where neither her friends nor her enemies could find her._

_“Good-bye, Mycen”, Celica said to him when he left her at the priory doors, and she didn’t cry then._

_Mycen smiled a sad smile before he turned his back. Returned to Ram Village. To Alm, and Faye, and Tobin, and Gray, and Kliff—while Celica was all on her own inside a big sanctuary._

_There was ivy on the walls, and freshwater running down and around the walls, with the statue of Mila in the center. It was magical and pretty, but the water only dampened her eyes more._

_She’d be eleven years old, tomorrow. Her friends back home had prepared a surprise, they’d promised and kept it very secret, and now—_

_“Celica”, the old man by her side smiled down at her (he had a sad smile too). “That is your name, correct?”_

_Yes, and no, Celica thought, but she only nodded. The man beside her looked kind, and sort of inflated in his many robes (something Gray would’ve thought was very funny); and his elegant headdress made him much taller._

_He was a Bishop and a Saint, the one who ran the priory; Sir Nomah. Mycen had introduced him as such, after all._

_Celica knew plenty of things about this place from what Mycen told her. In many ways Novis was very much like the mainland, Mycen had said – ‘but much quieter, and more fish-smelling’._

_‘And not at all the same’, Celica had added._

_Her lips trembled, and her nose got stuffy as she tried to breathe through it. _

_“You needn’t say anything, child”, Nomah nodded at her. “I understand.”_

_Celica looked away, stared into the floor while her eyes hurt._

_***_

_Celica had spent her first days on Novis trying to act like a normal child._

_She walked on the docks and alongside the shores, practiced her aim by throwing rocks into the waves, ran in the woods—and everywhere she went, Nomah was always close by. It was not the way Mycen had guarded her, but she supposed that after the attack on Ram village, when one of Desaix’s men had found her... they couldn’t be too careful._

_But it was weird, and people seemed to notice her even MORE when she had The Very Important Priory Master following in her steps, which was the opposite of what was to supposed to happen. Celica had quickly learned that if she were to survive, she had to look like just anyone._

_And thus, she’d not had more than a few days to adjust before she was approached by a troubled-looking Nomah one early morning._

_“Come with me”, Nomah had said to her._

_And Celica had obeyed. They walked past a new face when they exited the priory and toward the corner gardens; a small child with soft curls all around her round face, couldn’t be more than six, who looked at them with wide, terrified eyes before she ran toward the closest door and hid behind it._

_“That’s Genny”, Nomah said, his eyes sorrowful. “She’s new. Like you.”_

_Celica’s heart bled for her, despite not knowing anything else. It was hard enough to be new. Hard enough to know that this island was your new world and these people your new family._

_Celica followed Nomah until they’d reached a nook in the priory garden walls, one that was perfect for hide and seek. Maybe that was just what it was used for, because two children her own age peeped out from behind the nook._

_One had short, pink hair in a tousle. She beamed with an excited smile. The other frowned very seriously and nudged the other in the side when Nomah came close._

_“Mae, Boey”, Nomah said, and he sounded a little bit stern. “Be polite, now. This is... Celica.”_

_Celica wanted to cry again. She didn’t know why. It was kind of a standard, these days._

_The pink one let out a squeal, her hands clasped beneath her chin and her smile so impossibly wide._

_“Wooowww”, she said. “Your hair is SO pretty! I wish mine was that long!”_

_Celica merely looked at her, stunned into silence. “Thank you”, she whispered._

_“Celica, these are Mae and Boey”, Nomah continued. “They’re children of Novis. And they are henceforth to watch over you instead of me. Because we can both agree that me awkwardly following you isn’t going to work in the long run.”_

_No, Celica could definitely agree on that._

_“Mycen instructed me you had a lot of other kids around before”, Nomah said. “And that’s clever. Having children your own age around is far less suspicious.”_

_“Plus, I can DEFINITELY punch a guy!” Mae added and smacked her hand in her palm. “Way harder than Boey can, anyway!”_

_Boey merely frowned deeper at this comment, and bowed slightly in Celica’s direction. “I prefer to use magic”, he said. “I’m learning from Sir Nomah. I think I can protect people way better with that, even though I never wanted to be a knight or anything.”_

_Celica only nodded, before she glanced up on Nomah. “Okay”, she said. “So like, they’re my protectors, now? Uhm... Do you... Do they... know?”_

_Nomah tensed his jaw for a moment, before he sighed. “They know”, he answered._

_Celica could hardly believe it. Not even Alm—not even Faye had been allowed to know the truth about her._

_“Don’t worry”, Mae said and struck a pose she probably thought looked heroic, her arms crossed while leaning back. “I’m great at keeping secrets! So is Boey!”_

_“I can speak for myself”, Boey mumbled. _

_Mae completely ignored him and let out another squeal. “Seriously Celica, your hair is amazing! It’s carrot-colored – and I love those – and I love your little bow! And wow, it’s SUPER long! Aw, man... I wish I could have mine like that.” _

_“So let it grow”, Boey said with a glare. “It’s not that hard.”_

_“Says you!” Mae pouted against the wall, as Nomah quietly slipped away (Celica seemed to be the only one who noticed). “My parents aren’t doing fancy braids and stuff, I gotta learn everything myself! It’s not fair that your parents get to know all that and you don’t even CARE.”_

_“Feel free to visit anytime you like”, Boey muttered._

_“I would if your little brothers weren’t so annoying! I’m so glad it turned out I wasn’t a boy, because they’re super exhausting.”_

_“Thanks”, Boey said dryly. “And I think it’s an age-thing. They’ll grow up.”_

_“At least my parents were smart enough to not have another kid after me”, Mae shrugged._

_Boey shrugged back. “I can see why.”_

_Once again, Mae ignored Boey’s comment, her full focus on Celica. “What’re your parents like? Did they teach you how to do braids and tie your bow?”_

_Celica’s chest felt dark for a moment. “My mother died when I was little. And my father never cared. I don’t even know if he remembers I was born.”_

_For a few heartbeats, there was absolute silence, but then came a low huff._

_“He sounds like an ass”, Mae said, and the bluntness came as a shock to both Celica and, evidently, Boey._

_“Mae!” he cried, absolutely appalled, but for some reason, Celica found herself chuckling._

_“An ass”, she repeated. She’d never been taught many rude words, and they were actually quite funny. At least the way Mae said them._

_And suddenly, she didn’t miss her old friends as badly. Of course she still missed them, but when Mae got off the wall and straightened with a smile unlike anyone else’s (she looked like everything in the entire world was hilarious, in a way that made Celica want to laugh with her), she missed them less._

_“Have you been to the Marsh?” Mae asked. “It’s the lake in the center of the island. It doesn’t get as cold as the sea does, so you can bathe even when it’s not summer! That’s where I live.”_

_Celica smiled and shook her head. “I have been... to the south shore, mostly.”_

_Boey stopped frowning at that. “Did you see the Wolf Rock? It’s a boulder with the shape of a wolf’s face, and there are a few houses beyond there—that’s where I and my family live.”_

_ “Wolf Rock? Oh...” Celica glanced toward the ground. “I thought it looked like a heart.”_

_“Yeah, see, that’s what I’ve been SAYING”, Mae laughed. “Boey, you and the rest of the island is wrong, me and Celica is right! So there!”_

_Celica wasn’t quite following, but hearing ‘me and Celica’ was a comfort. She was a part of something, in this all-new world._

_“I’m so excited”, Mae continued and offered her hands for Celica to take, her eyes gleaming with exhilaration. “I’m studying to become a priestess at the priory, and you could join us! And then when we have free time we’ll show you the island! Maybe you mainlander will think it’s small, but it has TONS of secrets and fun stuff! You’ll feel at home in no time, I swear.”_

***

For so long, Celica had never believed she’d return to the mainland. Eleven years she’d spent in the priory of Novis, kindling her fire magic and practicing her sword with Mae, her mind dedicated to the teachings of Mila.

All the while, she supposed she’d known in her heart that there was no way she could escape fate, and now she quite enjoyed the novelty of being away from Novis.

Zofia harbor wasn’t that different from Novis’ little port. Both smelled of fish (both fresh and... not so fresh), both were filled with both fisherman brigs and larger ships. And both were absolutely _swimming _in cats. Plump cats, scrawny kittens, friendly tabbies and elegant ones (Mae called them ‘_poser cats_’, which was... accurate).

But Zofia harbor was different in one regard. It was _richer_. Expensive fabrics were used as curtains, the merchant stalls were filled with fruits and fish in stark contrast to Novis’ half-empty ones.

Celica knew that this town suffered from the drought just as much as the rest of Zofia did, but it had enough provisions to keep up the pretense that it wasn’t bothered at all. Well, it was only a pretense until it was time to ask the merchants of the prices.

“Oh, wait a second – you’re _the _lady priestess!” A fruit-selling merchant yelled over Mae’s head (Celica saw her friend’s eyes glisten – she did not take well on being ignored). Then, the merchant bowed his head and gestured out over the assortment of apples and oranges and pears. “Please, help yourself to a full bag! It is thanks to you killing all of them pirates that I can open my supply routes to Novis again!”

Celica smiled and thanked him. Being regarded as some kind of hero wasn’t the reason she’d taken on the pirates – she’d actually been forced to. There was no leaving the island without getting attacked from all sides nowadays. Someone had to quell the source before they had any chance of reaching the mainland. Saber, the mercenary she’d hired to help them out, hadn’t been too happy, but they’d exited the pirate stronghold with their lives intact. They’d been lucky to attack alongside another small group of three people seeking vengeance, so afterwards they came out three people stronger than before, even though Mae sprained her ankle pretty badly.

The real issue had been the undead Terrors haunting the seas, but they’d managed those as well, with some luck and a lot of fire magic.

It wasn’t such a high tale if she put it like that, but she could enjoy the gratitude from the merchant nonetheless.

Mae let out a huff and opened her largest bag, filling it with apples. She held up some for Boey to check if he thought they were okay too, but Boey’s heart wasn’t exactly in it. His eyes darted somewhere else.

“What’cha so skittish for now?” Mae groaned. “I know we just battled a bunch of undead and junk, but you needn’t be so—“

“That’s not it!” Boey hissed at her, and glanced at Celica and pulled her away from the merchant. “I like this attention as much as the next person, but there’re all the more chances that somebody _recognizes_ you, Celica!”

Celica only smiled at him. “It’s okay, Boey. It’s been eleven years, and besides, I was never exactly visible to the citizens to begin with.”

“You say that now, but I see at least two people acting really weird—and they’re _scary _people.“ He backed away further, and Mae followed with a sigh, her pouch filled with apples.

Celica frowned at his words and looked around. Well... Yes. A woman, one who had walked past them as they conversed with the merchant, had stopped in the middle of a step. She’d gone to stand in front of the merchant, looking at the fruit without _looking _at it. And now, she was throwing a glance over her shoulder, right at Celica.

“She’s been looking at you funny”, Boey said between his teeth.

“Hmm”, Mae agreed, her eyes narrowed, staring right back at the woman by the fruit-stall. “Yeah, she looks at you weird, and I wouldn’t exactly call that ‘_thanks for saving us from pirates_’-weird, either. She’s got some other issue with you, Celica.”

“Well then, let’s hear it”, Celica answered.

“Wait, what—“ Boey began, before Celica angled her chin toward the woman in an invite to come closer.

The woman reacted to the nod with her mouth forming a surprised _o_, but then she crossed over to them, waving at some kind of companion hovering at the edge of the market to follow her.

The woman’s skin had a darker shade, similar to Boey’s, and her hair was quite unlike anything Celica had seen before. It was a stark green, like summer leaves. Her face was adorned with a myriad of shallow scars, and she was twice as tall as Celica. She looked... Dangerous, if it hadn’t been for the fact that her eyes were so soft and inviting.

“Excuse me”, she said – and just the way she said that sounded _different_. A bit alien. “I couldn’t help but overhear all of the townsfolk speaking of the exploits of someone eradicating the pirates from these waters. That was you, milady?”

“That’s correct”, Celica said, arching her neck to meet the woman’s eyes. She was... _really _tall. And the woman who came to join her side – same skin tone, less scars, and hair an ocean blue – made Celica feel tiny as well, even though she wasn’t quite the green-haired one’s match.

The first woman’s gaze shivered a little, and she bit her lip. “My name is Palla. This is my sister, Catria. We hail from a continent in the east.”

“Archanea”, the one named Catria clarified. “In case you’ve heard of it. I doubt it.”

She looked completely deadpan. Celica might have thought she was _bored_ if it wasn’t for the flame behind her gaze.

Something desperate hovered over both of the strangers. Celica’s mind worked hard trying to file them into boxes of ‘_dangerous_’ or _‘dangerous-looking but actually friendly_’. Not too much success.

“We simply wondered...” Palla began, then trailed off. “Amongst the pirates, were there any... prisoners? A girl? Bright pink hair, yay-high—“

“—can either talk or punch a guy’s ears off”, Catria cut in, her face still deadpan.

“She’s our sister”, Palla continued, ignoring Catria’s description. “She was taken by Valentian pirates... And we’ve lost her trail. You’ve _fought_ pirates. Please, if you saw anything—“

Celica ransacked her brain, her heart quivering in sudden doubt. No, surely not? They’d searched every pirate ship for survivors and there had been no corpses or prisoners (but what if they hadn’t searched enough?), and no pirate had had pink hair (but some had helmets, didn’t they?).

“That sucks”, Mae said, looking to Boey, who in turn looked to the three Pirate Ambushers (as Celica liked to call Valbar’s little squad) who’d just arrived to their scene carrying groceries of their own.

“Valbar”, Boey called over to him. “You three were at the pirate fortress the longest – did you remember anything about a pink-haired girl among Barth’s guys?”

Valbar, being almost as tall as the one named Catria, let out a ‘_what’s this about?’ _before denying any memory of a prisoner, or anyone pink-haired aside from Mae and Genny.

“I’m afraid we haven’t seen her”, Celica concluded, craning her neck again. “I’m very sorry.”

A flash of anxiety moved behind Palla’s gaze, and even Catria’s neutral expression shattered. Perhaps Celica’s tone hadn’t been the best – as if saying ‘_I’m sorry for your loss’_. She was used to speaking that way from her many years at the priory, but that was obviously not helping in this case.

“No, no, don’t be sorry – uhm, _thanks_”, Palla said, her melodic, strange words quivering. “She’ll have to be... somewhere else, then. Excuse us for taking up your time—”

“If you’re looking for prisoners, then Barth’s old fortress ain’t the right spot to look”, Valbar said, continuing the former discussion. He had such a booming voice; he was somewhat used to not hearing when a conversation ended.

“Barth was a killer”, Valbar said and clutched his hands into fists, gauntlets creaking. “But he was just a henchman, see. All thievers and pirates answer to the pirate king, Grieth.”

He had the Archaneans’ attention. Palla frowned at him, her own hands balled to fists as well.

“Pirate... _King_”, she repeated. “And where is he?”

Celica felt a sudden sympathy for this Grieth. The way the outlanders looked told her they weren’t the meek sort, and the way their eyes gleamed with mercilessness told her that they weren’t afraid to use that strength. These people had killed countless times before, and that struck a terror inside Celica.

“He has a fortress up northeast, so rumor goes”, Valbar nodded. “And he takes prisoners as keepsakes, so they say. A collector, of sorts. One day, I’m going to make sure he’s getting what’s coming to him, as well. My family might be resting in peace now that they’re avenged, but the countless of other families are still needing their revenge. There won’t be a single pirate in Zofia once I’m done!”

Palla and Catria exchanged glances. “You’re going to attack him?” Palla asked.

“Uhm”, Boey answered. “Now hold up a little, Valbar— We’re going to Zofia castle, and then to Mila’s temple—“

“Yeah, but Greith’s stronghold is on the way, isn’t it?” Valbar insisted. “Slight detour to the east! You Archanoians could come with – suppose we need all the muscle we can get!”

“Valbar—“ Boey began to protest, but was interrupted by a hand on his shoulder.

Celica glanced at the newcomer. Saber, her mercenary who had been paid to keep her safe, had grumpily made his way to the tavern when they’d arrived; but he’d made his way to them now. He must have seen them through a window and decided this was a potential danger.

“What’s this gatherin’?” Saber asked through his teeth. “Trouble, lass?”

“No”, Celica answered him, even though she wasn’t so sure. The Archaneans had begun to argue, a quiet series of angry whispers.

“We’d have way better chances”, Palla hissed, “we could follow them and fan out to search the way Bantu searched for Tiki, and have a safe place to return—“

“Why?!” Catria hissed back. “She _has _to be there with that Grieth animal – we’d just be wasting time! We need to fly there, right now!”

“Us two against a whole pirate fortress?” Palla shot back.

“That was the plan to begin with – we’re not here to make friends!”

“This is bigger than we anticipated, what else do you suggest we do—?”

“We go get Commander, is what we do! Put her on a proper wyvern, give her an axe – that pirate will be sorry he was ever _born_!“

Palla’s eyes got misty, and she turned her head away. Celica got the feeling she was invading on something private, but she couldn’t back away. She’d been trained as a priestess for eleven long years, and she wasn’t about to turn her face away from people in need of her help.

The whispers continued. Then Palla’s eyes settled on Celica’s. They were not open and inviting anymore. Those were eyes of pure steel.

“We accept your offer”, she said. “We’re coming with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon says you can't recruit Catria and Palla in this town, but I say you can. My city now.


	11. Torn Family Portrait

Minerva’s neck wouldn’t stop aching. Her body had grown stiffer, wasn’t used to the strain the long journey home from Archanea put her under. She could have spent the crossing in relative comfort on a ship, just like when she’d ventured to Altea, but she’d opted not to. Sailing would delay her by a whole week, perhaps even longer with the seafarers skittish from the aftermath of the Valentian pirates.

Now she had Hera, and given the choice, Minerva would always look to the skies firsthand. She would’ve travelled the entire way on Hera’s back, but Archanea had refused to let a squadron of sky knights cross their borders – a follow-up message from Boah had been clear enough on that end. Fair enough. There were too many disturbing memories that would awaken.

Though Boah hadn’t said _anything_ about flying _from_ the Archanean border.

Thus, once Minerva and her entourage had reached the outskirts of Archanea, another squadron awaited her. Hera stood prepared at the front with saddle and all, and Minerva threw her arms around her neck in sheer relief. The wyvern answered by resting her head on top of Minerva’s in an aloof response to the affection, then smacked her lips and stomped her feet as if to say ‘_all right, that’s enough hugging_’. She seemed pleased to be appreciated, but to say she seemed to have _missed_ her master would be a stretch, or so Minerva supposed.

Nonetheless, she took to the sky, and as she left Archanea behind she could finally breathe easy again.

\---

They arrived at the castle late at night. Once darkness had begun to settle, Minerva’s envoy had been mere hours away from the capital and there hadn’t been much use in setting up a place to sleep in the wilderness.

Her soldiers were exhausted, but the cover of darkness actually suited Minerva well. She descended onto the stone platforms within the castle walls, dismissed her entourage and led Hera to the stables alone.

Once there, and once certain no one saw her, Minerva tore up the large flakes of stone that served as Hera’s sunbathing-bed.

“You know I’ll put them back, right?” Minerva huffed in response to Hera’s glaring eyes. Hera snapped her tail in annoyance, but let her be.

The hole was shallow and barely visible in the shadows, but when Minerva sat her lantern down beside her, the faint glow below her was unmistakable. She bent down and pulled Hauteclere out of the ground.

The surge of power had her draw for breath. She hadn’t been away from her weapon for this long since... since she was a child. Enough time to forget just how loud the wordless, ancient whispers screeched the first time she’d touched it; like an iron rake over her bare bones.

She was used to it now, which seemed a bit odd. It took some time away from it to realize just _how_ odd, but regardless, her pulse was even and calm at the familiarity. She slung Hauteclere over her shoulder and used her other hand to tip the rocks back for Hera’s bedding.

“Thank you for guarding it for me”, Minerva said with a pat on Hera’s front leg. “And thanks for not eating it.”

Hera blew air into her face. She seemed to understand a lot more human speech than was the standard, and she was definitely smart enough to understand when a joke was made at her expense. Maybe she didn’t fully understand this one, but Minerva made sure to pat her on the leg again with an apologetic smile, just in case.

“Sorry”, she said and stroked her hand over the wooden bars of Hera’s box before she closed it. “Have a good rest.”

Hera narrowed her eyes at her in response.

\---

Ylina had fallen asleep over her desk, and the surprise of Minerva gently poking her shoulder wasn’t something she handled very well. She flailed her arms around and sent documents flying in all directions, before she sat up straighter and looked up at Minerva.

“Good... evening”, she greeted, and squinted. “...your majesty?”

“Yes, it’s me”, Minerva answered her. “Good evening. I did not mean startle you.”

“Oh, no, that’s fine—I did not mean to fall asleep, either.” Ylina rustled her own hair, trying to make herself presentable. “How was the wedding?”

Minerva bent down and picked up some of the documents off the floor. An inevitable question, but she wasn’t sure how to respond to it. If the wrong people heard her heavy tales, Macedon could end in worsened relations with Archanea. Minerva wasn’t willing to risk that.

“I’m glad to be home”, was all she answered.

Ylina gave her a slightly skeptical nod, as if she couldn’t imagine an Archanean wedding to be anything but spectacular. Thankfully, she didn’t pry further.

“And we’re glad to have you, as always.” Ylina pointed at one of the documents in Minerva’s hand. “I’ve tried to keep everything patched together in your absence, as per usual. Now that you’re here, though, I think it’s best if you take a look at that document right there—I _swear _I’ve been trying to find laws and rules to delay it, but there was a loophole I couldn’t really do much about.”

Minerva was beyond exhausted, but with that prompt, she couldn’t possibly postpone reading it.

The document did not contain anything bold, nor anything world-changing, but it left a sour taste in Minerva’s mouth regardless. In her hands was a reinforcement policy that would allow teachers to strike their students, under the specific circumstance that they’d spoken ill of Macedon or its soldiers. The document framed such conduct as treason, which was a capital offense and shouldn’t be handled lightly.

Minerva didn’t need to look at the signature to know who had suggested this. Rucke had asked about this issue a little more than a month ago. Minerva vaguely remembered how she’d disregarded it—Catria had been there as well, and as an Academy Instructor she’d been outspoken in her distaste for the idea. Maybe it was good that she wasn’t here to see this.

The document seemed rushed, and was dated on the day of Minerva leaving for Archanea. And thus, it was obvious what Rucke had been trying to do.

“It isn’t passed yet, but it might get passed regardless if you overrule it”, Ylina explained, and lifted a heavy pile of papers from her desk. “Here are the lawmaking changes I’ve suggested to keep this from happening again. It’ll take at least a year to get them established, and you’d need to polish them far more before then – it’s very difficult to word them appropriately, since it’s a balance between you having no power at all on these matters and you having supreme reign over them – neither of which are good.”

Minerva didn’t look at the documents. She’d never be able to read them in her tired state.

“Thank you”, she said instead. “You’ve done plenty, and I shall try to make your work justice.”

“All for a better world, and all that.” Ylina absentmindedly fiddled with one of the pieces of paper, a frown on her face. “I mean, I can’t complain, I _like_ papers and order and making things accountable and all that, and I _much_ prefer this over fighting a war. If you need me to step in again, you know I’ll come to aid you in an instant.”

Ylina smiled at her, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

Minerva smiled back the same way. “It is not your task to bear. Don’t worry. I won’t leave again. Please rest, and let me take care of the rest.”

Minerva was not the most devout believer, but there were times she was absolutely certain the Gods cursed her with every breath they took. They must enjoy to see her walk alone, watch her pretend she’d be strong enough to withstand the maddening darkness.

Pretense was her closest companion. Whether it was pretending to stand by Doluna or pretending she was good enough to be queen didn’t matter; she had to keep doing so. She wasn’t given much choice; not with the evidence of what could happen in her absence right in her hands.

_I won’t leave_, she repeated, and only then understood that she truly wasn’t ever going to see the shores of Valentia.

\---

Another month passed.

True to her word, Minerva didn’t leave. She didn’t give herself time to ponder it. Time spiraled quickly when she could barely rest. Although her mind tended to forget more than usual. Her focus dwindled and her patience dried out.

So maybe time wasn’t changing pace; she just couldn’t assess it correctly. It was all the same. Better, even, to not be given many chances to reflect just how gaping the silence around her was.

Her military force diminished all according to plan, so she did some things right, at least. Though it was not without fiery ideals occasionally opposing her; Rucke was among the youngest on her council, merely a few years older than Michalis – and he let that show, more for each day. There was an energy behind his words, driven by an ambition sometimes reminiscent of how a child explores ways to get what they want.

Minerva took to routinely having Hauteclere leaned against her chair during councils. Something to remind them of who she was, to keep them from testing her patience. She was ashamed of it, but couldn’t think of any other way when she was too exhausted to dutifully listen and debate the way she’d have liked.

One more month, and she no longer walked out from to a dampened pillow in the mornings. She didn’t have many tears left in her, and that might be for the best. It drained her to cry.

Another week passed. Not a letter. Not a word. Not even a rumor.

Minerva stretched out over her desk, stared into the fireplace. The two armchairs stood unmoved, and unused. _We’ll make a home of this_, they said. Like a taunt.

Minerva looked away, played with her quill in front of her.

She’d written four letters and addressed them to _Valentia_. Her messengers had merely stared at the envelope and then back up at her like she’d lost her mind. ‘_Just try_’, she’d begged them. And they had tried, she was sure, but it just wasn’t possible.

Maybe this time would be different. Maybe she should attempt it again.

She closed her eyes.

Or maybe she should stop dreaming of impossible things and write to Maria instead. While possible, that was difficult as well. They’d agreed they should try to act normal despite their worries. And true to her word, Maria’s letters hadn’t really changed – she discussed Merric giving up the full beard and only having stubble, she discussed how difficult it was to play the lute, and how hard she tried making potions.

But whenever Minerva tried to construct an answer, no words came to her. _Everything is the same_, she’d began one of her letters._ I feel nothing, yet I’m frightened._

She’d thrown that letter into the fire, and given up on sending anything at all for the rest of the week.

What would she even say? Would she tell Maria how she’d gone to polish Hera’s scales, only to fall asleep over her back? Would she tell her about the attempts to sort through the archives, where she’d ended up kicking over a pile of books and yelled at a librarian? Would she tell her that she couldn’t even remember what she’d eaten for lunch an hour earlier? And that she was so lonely, she wished she could disappear?

Nothing good would come of it, Minerva knew that. It had been hard enough to convince Maria to stay and continue her studies, and if she’d read anything like that, Maria would definitely cut her time in Khadein short. Sacrifice her happiness alongside Minerva’s.

_Try to make time for things you enjoy, too_, one of Maria’s letters had instructed her. _It’s what I do. I’ve made new friends. It’s really helped me deal with everything._

Minerva hadn’t exactly _tried_ to make friends, since the only people she met were councillors and servants, neither who were interested in her friendship for _her _sake. She’d attempted to speak to Rivan occasionally, which was good enough sometimes, and abhorrent at other times.

“My parents have founded a support group”, Rivan had once told her when he’d found her staring out the window. “It was what gave me inspiration for my earlier suggestion, you see.”

He referenced something Minerva had forgotten. She hoped she could cover that up by steering the topic in another direction.

“A support group for what?” Minerva asked, still staring out the window.

“For families with people missing”, Rivan explained. “Those who never received an official Death of Kin-statement during the war. We’re surprisingly many, I’d say.”

Minerva’s heart sank in her chest. She knew how at least two of those who’d ‘_disappeared_’ had ended up, because she’d killed them herself.

She couldn’t live without the reminder of the many lives she’d taken, and they blended together into one great uneasiness, a thousand faces that became indistinguishable in the dead of night – but those two lives had been special. They hadn’t been bandits, or criminals trying to kill her so she’d been forced to defend herself, they’d been set up, provoked and murdered.

And that one of them had been Rivan’s brother didn’t exactly lessen her guilt.

“It’s unfortunate that there are many of you”, Minerva answered distantly. “But commendable to try and build a network of support. If you want my help, you need only ask.”

Rivan beamed at her. “Thank you kindly, your majesty!”

Minerva couldn’t return his smile, so she merely nodded. She had blood on her hands like dark, corrupting secrets. She’d cut hundreds of holes for families, and those were voids no one could ever fill.

If she’d been brave enough, she’d have told him that she wasn’t kind, nor could she ever be.

\---

Two months and a day since the last time she’d heard Palla’s voice.

Minerva breathed hard and lifted Hauteclere. There were screams in her head that only worsened when she aimed her blows, but she still drove the edge into the training dummy. Beads of sweat lay cold on her brow.

She refused to waste away behind a desk, on a throne. The one thing she was good at was crushing things, and that she would.

Rucke kept telling her that the people of Macedon didn’t fully respect her, and he kept suggesting his own solutions to that problem. And she’d nearly accepted them out of sheer apathy.

She split the dummy. She couldn’t let herself give up. That would be the final stab through her heart, the killing blow. She had to keep going. Had to be the Minerva she saw reflected in her people’s eyes, not the one that stared back at her from the mirror.

Her loneliness could end at any moment, after all. How pathetic she’d be if Palla returned and Minerva had let herself become a husk without the power to fulfill her countless promises. How wretched she’d be if she merely shrugged and let her council do what they liked when Catria had fought so hard by her side. How pitiful she’d be if she turned her eyes away from her responsibilities and left Maria without a future.

Hauteclere got stuck in the ground. She’d been sloppy.

She tore it free, stared at the mutilated dummy in front of her. She wanted a sparring partner but didn’t trust herself to _not_ hurt them. Or perhaps she didn’t trust them to stand up to her.

But in truth, she just couldn’t bring herself to replace the spot that Palla had always filled.

Really. There were so many options for her to be less lonely, but too many obstacles to reach them. And every single one of those obstacles was her own fault.

She left the training grounds with an absent mind. She’d lost the will to slash a dummy to pieces, but she still needed to move; a walk around the castle would have to do. She nodded at servants who acknowledged her, averted her gaze when a librarian went past, and didn’t interact much more with anyone.

She kept going without a goal in mind. Usually she avoided limping up the stairs to the towers, but in that moment, the mind-splitting boredom and stress within her were enough motivation.

The dusty uneven stone bricks brought her no comfort, so she kept going. She chose not to enter her old room, but with uncertain steps she eventually stopped, having walked over the threshold to Maria’s childhood bedroom.

Minerva would have expected it to be empty, but it was cluttered with things. Minerva didn’t have much say in where the castle workers should store unnecessary things, and this was a good place, she supposed. No one wanted to go here, least of all Maria.

Minerva touched a tower of three chairs stacked on top one another, for no other reason than to see if they would move. They wobbled dangerously, and before the top one crashed onto the clatter below she slid out of the way, her back against the wall. Her leg bumped into a collection of broken frames, supported by a stack of boxes, and she stopped.

At first she tried to push them back with her foot, but changed her mind at the sight of smiling faces. She crouched and pulled out the painting in front. The wooden frame was painted in gold, which would have looked luxurious if it wasn’t for the fact that it fell apart as Minerva touched it.

The canvas thudded against the floor, and dust rained from it.

Minerva discarded the broken frame, and lifted the canvas into the light.

She knew this one. She’d posed for two hours, and once it was done, she'd ran outside yelling that she’d ‘_never-ever do a painting again_’. Seven-year-old Minerva had not been very fond of sitting still., and maybe her father’s hand on her shoulder had been to keep her from bolting out. The thought made her smile. She wished his face would still be there, but the fabric of the canvas had been torn. Either against unfavorable stacking conditions or the intentional slice of a knife; with how old the damage seemed to be, it was impossible to tell which. The oil colors had fallen off in flakes from the sagging canvas, so that her father’s head and her mother’s chest and Michalis’ arm were untraceable.

_Michalis_.

She’d avoided looking at him, but he was glaringly impossible to ignore.

The Michalis in the painting had put his hand on the back of Minerva’s chair, while his other arm held the bundle that was Maria. He looked right at the painter with a tiny smile, and he absolutely shone with pride.

Minerva vaguely remembered the way he’d insisted to hold onto both his sisters in some way, and that made it look like he was proud of _them_, but that was a skillful illusion. If he looked like a proud big brother, who would have suspected he planned to make them suffer? His ambition wouldn’t be questioned if he seemed kind – what harm could a ten-year-old boy _possibly_ do, anyway? He’d played them all for fools.

_‘You’re being unfair_’, Maria would have sighed if she’d heard Minerva’s thoughts.

And yes, maybe she _was_ unfair. There were too many things Minerva didn’t know. When exactly had Michalis begun to spin the web of death and war; when exactly had Gharnef provided the first foundation for their goal? Had Michalis resented Minerva from the day she was born, or had something changed? Had he killed their father with his own hands, if at all?

Minerva clenched her jaw. Those were the questions _Maria_ wanted to be answered. _Minerva _didn’t care. She’d moved on, content in the knowledge that her brother rotted away slowly where he couldn’t reach any of them.

She glared at Michalis’ tiny smile.

‘_Look!_’ his proud grin told her. ‘_These are my sisters! I think they’re great!’_

It was unbearable. And yet, Minerva left the room with the portrait under her arm.

Maria might be happy to see this one, she argued to herself. Minerva should have it patched together as a surprise when she got home. It might not look as good, and it would never be truly whole, but it was far too precious to let fall apart in a forgotten corner of the castle.

\---

Later that night, Minerva sat by her desk again, playing with her quill against an empty piece of paper. Then she leaned down and scribbled a hasty collection of words.

_Maria_

_Thank you for your latest letter. I will try to do better in responding to them._

_You asked about The Sleeping Eagle three letters ago. I’m sorry I didn’t address that. I know you have questions._

_That’s why I’m going to see him. Maybe he’ll be awake, maybe not._

_Either way, I will not kill him. You have my word._

_\- Minerva_

\---

The hidden cabin was oddly beautiful. Minerva had never seen it with her own eyes before, and the gentleness that rested over the clearing calmed her down before she even touched down on the ground.

Earth magic could explain a lot of it, seeing as four healers lived here and radiated their magic subconsciously, but that could not explain it fully. The air was so crisp, rather than the thick air of the capital, and the leaves rustled with timeless peace. It was simply... nice.

Which in turn was barely acceptable. Her brother did not deserve such a lovely place to rest. He didn’t deserve blooming flowers, lush ivy and soft winds.

Minerva drummed her fingers against Hera’s saddle, wondered if she might do best to simply leave; then a healer spotted her, and it was too late to do so.

“Who—oh, your _Majesty_?”

Minerva knew the names of the healers, but she’d not seen their faces in a long time. This one had dark, curly hair and patient brown eyes; _probably _the one called Amira, although Minerva didn’t trust her memory enough. She decided she’d try to avoid being confronted about their names as far as possible.

“That’s right”, Minerva answered, without stepping forward or any sudden movements.

She’d expected surprise. These healers had obviously not ever prepared for the possibility that the eldest sister would ever set her foot in this clearing, and it wasn’t as though Minerva could have easily contacted them about it in advance, either.

“Oh”, Probably-Amira said and glanced over her shoulder. “That’s... potentially dangerous, Your Majesty. Just keep talking calmly with me like this, and my wife will not see you as an unwelcome intruder. I hope. My dear Thora is sort of our patrolling guardswoman, you see. It’s quite rare, but she has scared away some unfortunate hunters during our years up here. One even went and knocked on the door to the cottage Thora’s built for herself and me a way up north of here—it’s a really lovely little place! And how thankful I am for her building it; it gets very crowded in this cabin otherwise.”

Minerva nodded slowly, unsure of how to respond. She figured with as few visitors as these healers were getting, the opportunities to converse with a stranger were scarce; and in contrast to Minerva, this one seemed to enjoy chatting.

“I see”, Minerva finally said. “Well. That aside, I hope I _am_ welcome. My sister has long asked of me to go... visit.”

“Absolutely”, Probably-Amira said and gently clasped her hands. “I’ll just make sure to tell my wife what you look like so she doesn’t jump you with a hammer.”

“Much appreciated”, Minerva said and threw one last glance on Hera to make sure she wouldn’t cause trouble for these people. The wyvern seemed content to lay down in the grass and watch the birds in the trees, so that was unlikely. Although knowing her, she’d play pranks only when Minerva had her back turned. A risk Minerva would have to take.

She turned her eye back on Amira. “I’d like to go inside, if I may.”

“Of course”, Amira answered, a little bit too quickly, and cleared her throat. “I should warn you, though. He’s been awake a lot these last two days.”

Minerva frowned. “And you have not sent word about it?”

Amira squirmed a little. “Oh, you see, Princess Maria specifically told us _not to,_ the last time she was here. To minimize the risk of you, well, barging in here and make all our hard work in vain, so to speak.”

“Fair point”, Minerva nodded.

“That isn’t what you’re going to do now, is it?”

Minerva clenched her jaw. “I’ve sworn not to. Let’s hope I can keep my promises.”

\---

The door swung open with a bang. She might have kicked a bit too hard.

Michalis had been helped up into a sitting position, although his eyes were closed when Minerva entered. The young healer by the kitchen table had told her Michalis was sleeping at the moment, but she saw him react to the sound of her entering, an ever so slight jolt of his head.

He was awake.

He was _awake_.

Every single heartbeat in Minerva’s chest was a howling scream of anger. He may have looked more like a corpse than a man, but that his head had _moved_ was a provocation to her deepest demons and she couldn’t stand it. He shouldn’t be here, he shouldn’t have color beneath his scars, he shouldn’t be _breathing at all_—

His eyes opened.

It was as sudden as the flick of a wrist. Two eyes of Iote met one another, and it took all Minerva’s willpower not to tear the door of its hinges and start beating him with it.

“Oh”, Michalis said.

His voice trembled, barely capable to let out even such a simple sound. There was no command behind it, no demand to instill respect and subordination, just a simple croak through scarred lips.

Minerva hated it regardless.

“This is...” He tried to move his head, and winced at the pain. “Ow—it’s real all right. And very... unexpected.”

Parts of his face moved differently when he spoke. A good portion of it was covered by lumps of scars, and his skin were sunken slightly inward over one of his cheekbones, as if there was no bone there to keep the structure. His body, shrivelled and thin, and his neck almost as wide as one of her hands – a comparison her mind gladly made. His eyes were sunken deep beneath hair that lacked the thickness it had once possessed.

This was a pale imitation of the portrait, but it was no doubt _him_. And he was _alive_.

“Well then”, Michalis spoke out into the dangerously thick silence. “A sisterly visit. This is nice of you. I think. Is it?”

Minerva barely listened. Her mind sped through the myriad of ways she could hurt him. She could return almost a decade of pain, and he wouldn’t be able to fight back.

She felt something other than loneliness and despair for the first time in months. Her chest _burned_. Which was a relief, in some strange manner. She finally remembered what it was like to be so furious she couldn’t think straight. What she’d been fighting against; and thus also what she’d fought _for_.

Minerva didn’t speak. She barely breathed.

Michalis frowned, a face she recognized clear as day, before he tilted his head so that he looked at the wall instead.

“Now I just wish I was sleeping again. Come on, Minerva. Have you got nothing to say?”

There was hopelessness in his voice, but the words were confident. She recognized the slight air of condescension he’d always approached her with before, and it fueled her like oil on fire.

She crossed the room and stopped at arm’s length from his bed. She noticed another slight jolt of his head as she moved, but his bored expression did not change.

“I’m here to see if I should finish what I started”, she said through her teeth.

Those were empty words, given what she’d promised Maria, but he didn’t have to know that.

Michalis gave a slight chuckle. “Of course you are.” He didn’t look at her, kept staring at the wall instead. “I used to call you ‘_little savage’_, remember?”

“There would be no savagery in ending your pitiful life”, Minerva snapped back. “Only justice.”

She was ready for his answer. A scoff, an ‘_oh please!_’, or a dismissive glare...

He gave her none of that. He merely breathed out in a sigh.

“So it would be”, he agreed. “And a mercy, of sorts.”

He looked fragile. She’d never seen him so weak, but she had no room in her heart to feel sorry for him.

“You’ve glared at me”, Michalis said with a weak shrug. “Is that all? Are you done?”

“No”, Minerva snarled. “I want answers.”

She wasn’t interested in them for her sake, not anymore. She might have been for the brief moment she’d glanced upon that old portrait; but as soon as she’d heard him speak, all her curiosity crushed beneath the memory of a heartless Dragoon. However, if this was the last time Michalis was awake, that would mean the last chance for Maria to get some closure in her many questions. Minerva could suffer a few more minutes in his presence. She wouldn’t leave until she had at least something to tell, and she made sure to have that show in the harshness of her stance.

Michalis tensed his jaw and intensified his glare into the wall. Not unexpectedly, he tried to dismiss her.

“What makes you think I’d oblige to that?” he scoffed. “Your questions have never been of the more intellectually enticing sort—“

Minerva leaned on the frame of his bed with one arm. The wood creaked loudly, as if about to snap, and all the while, she didn’t let her eyes off him.

“I know you had contact with Gharnef”, she interrupted him. “How long?”

Michalis blinked slowly. He looked as though he tried to ignore her, but it was a fight he knew he’d lose. Discreet beads of sweat had appeared on his brow. He wasn’t unaffected by her presence.

“I was thirteen”, he answered, just as slowly as he’d blinked. Perhaps he was returning to the daze-like sleep. Perhaps he pretended to, as a means of escaping. He kept speaking nonetheless.

“It was a letter. It got sent to me secretly, by a raven that seemed enchanted. With that letter, Gharnef... introduced himself. Told me I’d caught his eye as someone... with potential. I didn’t care at first, but then Mother... died. “

“Right”, Minerva said, her voice cold. “And you weren’t there.”

Darkness flared in his gaze, and he stared down on his hands. “Oh, now you sound like Father. He pushed me to stay with her as she died, he just wouldn’t listen when I refused! So what if I wasn’t there? I didn’t want to remember her like that! He never understood that; he called me cruel!”

He quieted. It seemed he hadn’t meant to flare up like that, but it had hunted away the threat of sleep from his face. She’d made him angry, and her own fury screamed within her – he had no _right _to feel anything, no right to yell at her, _no right to exist _! _Just kill him, kill him, kill him—_

“Gharnef understood”, Michalis continued, quietly. “He even said there were ways to reverse death, and he was researching them. Can you blame me for being interested? Maybe you do. Because you didn’t seem to care about her death at all.”

Minerva bit down on her tongue. Didn’t give him the satisfaction of an answer. Her chest still burning, it took all her focus not to give in to hatred.

“Don’t look so judgemental”, he snarled, his gaze locked with hers. “Gharnef promised me what none of you ever could. I would be granted what I deserved; I’d rule a third of the world with no one to threaten my heritage. You would have believed him, too.”

That statement filled her with so much remorseless fury, she couldn’t stay. She couldn’t look at him a second longer.

She pushed away from her threatening stance, the bed frame cracking from her weight. She left the room without another word, and slammed the door behind her.


	12. Goldrain

When Catria was twelve years old, she’d seen Macedon’s eldest princess in the flesh.

It was the kind of experience one never forgot. She’d been tall, for one, but that wasn’t something that made her stand out in Macedon – no, what had absolutely fascinated twelve-year-old Catria had been her _armor_. Real _steel _armor with _gold linings_!

That had been unattainable for her childhood self, who’d up until then been carving sticks to throw like javelins in order to train her aim. And looking at the outfit of her future Commander, she imagined the unfathomable amount of riches the Macedonan royal family must have had.

Then again, twelve-year-old Catria hadn’t known very much about the world. She had yet to see the eloquent walls of the Archanean capital, yet to see the Empress Heir Nyna in glowing, pristine robes (perfectly clean and tidy, even though they’d been in the midst of a war).

True to Nyna’s impeccable aura, there was also her home. Catria saw the slab of rich bragging that was the Archanean Palace, and yeah, she’d thought that’d been the ultimate definition of ‘_pompous_’. Who could possibly build something that outshone the _Milennium Court_?

The Zofians, that’s who.

Catria had seen Zofia Castle from above earlier that morning. During her other flights, she hadn’t paid much attention to the odd little houses that Valentia had to offer, nor had she focused on anything other than asking for Est whenever she swept down into a new little village – but Zofia Castle had been _impossible_ to ignore.

The building wasn’t very tall, but it stretched on and on with the reach of an entire forest. The walls shone with polished white stone and sleek obsidian linings. The four drawbridges leading up to the grand gateway were built with silver chains and golden casings. And by the Gods, the central tower was so wide one could fit the entire _capital of Macedon_ in there.

Honestly, it made her angry. Who gave nobles the right to be so high and mighty as to build a home _this _exquisite? They sneered and looked down on people like Catria, they twisted and lied to gain just a little bit more of everything even when they didn’t need it, and they’d turn on their own Queen for trying to draw a line—

All right, maybe Catria was projecting a little bit. But no matter what, she wasn’t impressed by the flaunting of riches and she _never _would be.

Thus, as she rode alongside the rest of the pirate-hunting group toward the castle, she tried her absolute fullest to look displeased about it.

Mae (the one who had no problem being loud and outspoken) was clearly of another opinion. She whined something incomprehensible as they walked, her hands gesturing at the slick sheen of the walls ahead of them. And once they finally stopped before the first drawbridge, Mae practically exploded. She threw her arms out from her sides and shouted like a war-horn.

“Sweet jumping jesters! Now THIS is a castle! It’s huge! I mean, huuuuuge! And it’s GORGEOUS!”

Boey, her constant companion, hushed her. “Keep it down, would you, Mae? We’re not here to gawk at the sights like a band of slack-jawed wayfarers.”

“Whatever, professor funslayer”, Mae shot back without looking at him.

Mae had a way with words. Catria would have laughed under different circumstances, and she realized that Est _definitely _would have. Catria cringed and clenched her eyes shut, hugged the reins.

Gods. Every time the thought of Est appeared in her head, it was never followed by anything nice.

She might never hear her overly-cheerful laughter again. She might never hear her argue over small, dumb things. She might never get to see her grow into an old lady and beat her at made-up games.

Est had left them before. Right in the middle of the war she’d decided she’d had enough, and gone out on her own. It’d been different for many reasons, the most prominent being that Est had _chosen _that.

This hadn’t been a choice. She’d had peace! The entirety of Archanea had had their thrice-damned _peace_ and then _pirates_ from this awful kingdom had to show up and—

“Hey, Catria!”

Mae’s outcry startled her. She pronounced her name a bit strange, as if she were saying Cat-_ria_ rather than _Cat_-ria. Had Catria been in the mood to correct her, she would have, but now she let it be.

Mae grinned and pointed a thumb in the direction of the castle. “We’re going on ahead! Wanna come?”

Catria frowned at them and glanced behind her. The rest of the group was much slower than them – there was a sixteen-year-old among them who looked so frail she probably hadn’t walked very much in her life, and Celica made sure to stay with her like a worried elder sister.

Catria knew well enough what _those _looked like.

She turned her gaze toward the skies. Palla was the one scouting right now; they took turns, and Palla had insisted Catria get some rest before they reached the castle. Palla had a plan for everything when it came to keeping her sisters safe, which Catria supposed was nice. If only she hadn’t been so _frustrating _about it.

“Don’t worry about them”, Mae grinned, her hand around Boey’s wrist. “They’ll catch up. Come on, last one inside is a rotten cod!”

Catria couldn’t care less if she was a rotten cod, but she always worried less when she was on the move, so she nudged Mara with her heel. The Pegasus responded with a leap and within a few seconds, Catria had crossed over the three walls of the castle and sailed down into the courtyard.

She heard Mae yell ‘_hey, no fair!_’ from behind her, and that caused her to smile a little.

She took a quick look around, and her smile died away. This wasn’t a court-_yard_. It was a court-_park_. Really, who needed _this_ much space?

And was it really all right of them to just barge in like this? Hadn’t Celica said that some terrifying man named Desaix had laid siege to this castle—? No, wait, it was rebels that fought against this Desaix that had laid the siege and won. Rebels with some kind of fancy name Catria couldn’t remember now. The _Deliveries_? _Delivery_?

Celica had been absolutely certain they’d be welcomed, either way. Catria supposed she had to trust her when it came to Valentian politics, but still. It was a bit odd to just walk into someone’s castle like this; it generally wasn’t a very nice thing to do.

Her fingers twirled a lock of her hair as she glanced around the dully lighted courtyard. It was a nervous habit of hers to play with her hair for comfort—well, it wasn’t _her_ hair, really. She sometimes forgot it had once belonged to Caeda.

Catria hid the fact that she lacked eyebrows with her thick white headband, so not even her reflection would remind her. But when she twirled a strand of hair, she remembered Caeda as if she was standing right in front of her.

A memory that caused both hurt and joy. Caeda’s smile still brought a twinge of warmth in Catria’s chest. She’d been standing there with the finely crafted wig in her hand, her own hair cut shorter than Marth’s... and told Catria that the wig was hers to wear.

Catria would dream of it, sometimes, but nothing could ever compare to the very real moment that had been. Her heart ached to return there, although knowing that her best friend’s affections belonged to another. Gods, being in love was kind of the worst. Especially with how readily Catria’s heart threw itself into adoration without any consideration if _everything_ about it was _literally_ impossible—

“I say, what a positively radiant little mare! How utterly charming!”

Catria snapped back into reality, and her eyes found two mounted figures carrying lances over their backs and cold lanterns in their belt. One of them rode an armored horse, the other a Pegasus with a mane braided with ribbons of gold.

“Clair, stay back”, the one on a horse said. “You who breached the wall – speak!”

“Uh, hello”, was all Catria could think of saying.

She realized going ahead of Mae and Boey hadn’t been her best idea. She was like a fish out of the water in this kingdom.

“Clive, I find your behavior quite boorish”, the Pegasus knight named Clair said.

The knight named Clive ignored her. He rode closer to Catria, his lance at the ready.

“I demand that you state your allegiance – are you Rigelian?”

Catria wasn’t frightened from something so ordinary as a lance aimed at her chest. She merely tapped her chin and frowned. “That’s the kingdom to the north of here, isn’t it?”

“Do not play us for fools—“ Clive began, his voice raised.

Catria was just about to assure him that she wasn’t trying to be rude (which probably would have backfired, considering her talent to be rude regardless of intent) when Mae and Boey finally crossed the last drawbridge and entered the courtyard.

“Hey, knights of Zofia!” Mae exclaimed happily, skidding to a stop in front of this Clive-person. “You’re a part of the Deliverance, right?”

Right, _that _was the name of those liberation-fighters.

“Indeed”, Clive said, his narrow eyes set on Mae. “And you are?”

“We’re here with priestess Celica from Novis”, Boey quickly explained. “She came here to see the Deliverance. Well, at first we came here to try and retake the castle from Desaix and halt his crimes against Zofia—“

“—but you beat us to that!” Mae concluded for him, crossing her arms with a wide grin. “Lucky us, huh?”

Clive didn’t answer, and Boey noticed his suspicious stares at Catria. He carefully patted Catria’s pegasus on the neck and gestured at Catria herself with his other hand.

“This is one of our _Archaneans_”, he said, as if that would clarify everything. Well, with his tone of voice it was kind of like saying _‘she’s like a newborn baby, please excuse her’_, so it checked out_._

“_Archanea_!” Clair exclaimed, clasping her perfect hands and leaning forward so that the sun tinted her hair golden. “Oh, the lady must forgive us! What a brave soul to leave such a barbaric continent, and cross the treacherous sea!”

Catria had no time to react before Clair leaned forward even further, her eyes gleaming with pity.

“I hear they struggle so”, Clair continued. “Even the kings and queens live on scraps, and not a single soul knows how to read!”

“I— Wait, _excuse me_? We’re not—”

Catria usually wasn’t quick to anger, _all of this_, however, was quite maddening. She bit back the rest of her response, lest she’d be irreversibly rude, and tried to remind herself that they didn’t know better.

“So none of you are Rigelians”, Clive concluded. “Hm. Excuse my suspicion, but I cannot let you go any further. You see, we’ve had reports of a priest of Duma being sighted—“

Boey’s hand had frozen on Mara’s neck. “What?” he interrupted, too aghast to care that he was yelling at someone who looked every bit like a noble. “A _Duma _priest on _Mila’s _land? But that would violate the Divine Accords—“

He didn’t get any further before a loud cry echoed from outside the walls, and Mae switched from joyful to mortified within a moment.

“That’s _Celica_”, she whispered. Then she darted over the drawbridge like a flash of lightning.

Catria didn’t understand half of this talk of politics, but she _did _understand peril and fighting. That didn’t differ between continents.

She was up in the air in an instant. She turned in a tipping motion before Mara’s wings brought her higher.

The grounds outside the outmost wall had transformed completely. Where there’d been tranquil grass and beautifully planted trees there was now a row of rotting bones and pulverized gray stone.

Catria held her javelin at the ready. Clair had joined her in the sky, her own lance hoisted in a surprisingly threatening way. They hovered, searched for anything that moved; but the ugly scene was still.

At the end of the creepily neat row of remains lay something that had to have been a human. It was a dead one, sprawled out like a large soggy rag.

The stir of life was all from familiar faces – Celica, Saber, Genny, Valbar – and one unfamiliar one. Someone was in a real hurry of leaving, galloped away toward the forest. Which was suspicious indeed.

Catria considered hunting the stranger down, but they disappeared between the trees so quickly her chances of managing were slim. Besides, she should focus on making sure the group she was inexplicably a part of was doing all right, rather than dart away and risk getting lost.

She sailed down in front of the soggy rag of a human, where Celica kneeled. Her left arm was bruised, as though someone had taken hold of her very brusquely, but other than that she was whole and accounted for, just like everyone else.

Valbar (the armored one Catria had come to refer to as the Pirate Expert) held a hand on Celica’s shoulder, and Saber (the bitter one that Catria had come to think of as Celica’s grumpy father even though they weren’t related) kept this golden dagger drawn.

“What happened here?” she asked for anyone to answer.

She doubted anyone could explain it in a way she understood. Just how did a peaceful walkway turn into something that looked like a haunted graveyard? This place smelled like dead animals left out in the sun for weeks.

“I’ll tell ya what _happened_”, Saber snarled. ”Some Rigelian worshipper showed up outta nowhere on the hunt for the lass while you lot were off havin’ a sightseeing trip—“

“Saber, stop it”, Celica breathed. “I’m okay.”

The word _‘okay_’ was one these people threw about almost all the time. Catria still wasn’t sure what it meant. It could be said grumpily, or happily, or sarcastically, so it wasn’t easy for her to figure out.

Mae came thundering toward them and was in an instant down by her knees beside Celica.

“I’m okay”, Celica repeated to her.

“Nu-uh”, Mae breathed. “No you’re not.” She put her hand on one of the disgusting remains, her face cold with fury. “This guy… This looks like… He _cantored_. Did he like, try to have you eaten by old corpses or something?”

“No”, Saber snarled. “That fate he resigned to us ordinary ‘uns. He seemed to want to drag the lass away or somethin’.”

He glanced toward the youngest one in their group, Genny (the one who didn’t walk very fast), as if to make sure they were all safe and sound, before he once again grunted and looked down on Celica.

“Lass, next time a mysterious traveller asks ya’ if you’re a priest of Mila, jus’ say no, for Mercurius’ sake!”

Celica shook her head. “He seemed so kind, and troubled, I—I can’t just go about assuming everyone to be a priest of Duma!“

“A thousand apologies, lady priestess”, Clair said with her thin hand (seriously, how could those hold a lance?) covering her mouth. “This shouldn’t have happened! Our patrols spotted a suspicious Rigelian lingering about yesterday… If only we’d found him before he so rudely attacked you—“

“It’s all right”, Celica smiled up at her. “He’s... Gone, now. We barely had enough time to fight back. A knight showed up and simply ran all of his cantored beasts down, killed the priest and ran. Like he knew what would happen and tried to protect me from it—”

“A knight?” Clair asked. “A knight of Zofia?”

Catria didn’t really listen to the answer. Trying to keep up with them was already enough to make her head spin, more so with the fact that they’d _barely_ addressed the fact that for some ungodly reason there were awful-smelling remains all around them.

Catria had never seen anything like it – the remains were human-like, but powdery and slimy in all the wrong places. They must have rotted in the ground for a while, considering the dirt and decay. And now they’d broken free of their burial grounds and started walking the earth again, like in one of Maria’s ghost stories.

That didn’t exactly frighten her; it was rather more frustrating how this kingdom could be so _incredibly_ weird. In what world was walking corpses a part of everyday life? Catria’d had enough. She took her javelin and poked at the corpse of the most human thing down on the ground, the one she guessed was who the others referred to as a Duma Priest.

Mara snorted nervously, the whites visible around the edges of her eyes.

“Yeah, girl”, Catria mumbled with a calming stroke over the Pegasus’ mane. “Yeah, I agree, this is... really freaky.”

The dead man’s skin was a brittle gray. Not the reddish-brown Catria was used to seeing in Macedon, not the rich brown of Aurelis and Archanea, and not the flushed pale she knew most islanders and Grustians had... She’d only seen one other person with a deathly hue like this. And that man had stopped being human long ago. Was there a connection?

She poked the man’s clothes to the side to look at the injury. Red blood got caught on her javelin’s steel tip. So he was human enough to bleed, then—

“Oh, how dreadfully appalling!” Clair’s voice cut the air like a singer’s. Every pitch was articulated with precision, even when she expressed such negative emotion. “Do tell me that you will clean your weapon, because such use of it is distasteful!”

“What?” Catria asked her immediately, with a piercing glance. “You use weapons for something else here in Zofia?”

It was her standard setting to snap back like that. Pretend to be dumb, only to follow up with something clever. It was how she asserted power over the narrow-minded nobles at Commander’s council table, but right here and right now, she really shouldn’t have. Clair’s face twisted into such embarrassed surprise, Catria felt guilty for tricking her.

“Oh!” Clair gasped. “Oh, no, the lady must forgive me, I was not aware of your culture’s—“

“I was joking”, Catria interrupted her.

Just the fact that Catria talked over her caused Clair to stop, going into a stunned silence. Her lips formed a perfect circle, her fingers fanning out over her cheek.

“I... see”, was all Clair answered to that.

An awkward silence followed, but Catria didn’t actually mind those much. Her nose ached from the foul smells around her, she was tired and caught in a conflict she didn’t care about in the slightest, and she’d hated every minute she’d spent on this damned continent… But whenever the people around her showed their hospitality, whenever they called her a friend and included her, Catria hated everything a little bit less. Clair was, for all her fancy words, no exception.

Mae had pulled Celica to standing and walked her toward the castle. Genny followed like a worried tail, and after her, the rest slowly followed. Saber glared one last time on both Catria and Clair before he left.

But Clair wasn’t leaving. She watched Catria indiscreetly and… not boldly, exactly, but she didn’t seem so sure of what else to do.

Catria cleared her throat. She’d probably never meet this woman again, but it just seemed like the right thing to do to clarify a few things to her.

“Just… Just so you know, I’m not a lady”, she mumbled into her collar. “I’m just a knight from Macedon.”

Clair blinked, clearly confused. “Do excuse me, I... Do not think I understand. You are a knight, so you must be a lady, no?”

Catria barked a careful laugh. “_Hah_, what? Is that how it works over here? How do you have an army, then? Er— Do you have an army?”

Clair displayed an annoyed frown on her brow, but her face was no less stunning. “Now, clearly, there is a difference between the common soldier and the fine, high-born knights! The Deliverance is the first time commoners have ever been allowed to join the higher ranks, but it is an _extremely_ special case.“

“Yikes”, was all Catria had to say to that. “You know, where I come from, we simply choose the best. I was a huntress one day and the next I served right by the queen, sitting on her council – or, well, that took a few years, but still. Here I am. Also, quick side-note; I know how to read. Most Archaneans do, actually.”

Clair merely watched her in silence for a few heartbeats. “What you are suggesting… is that knighthood is freely given in Archanea?”

“No, Archanea is pickier, I think. But in Macedon, yeah.”

Clair frowned deeper. “Macedon? You are not… from Archanea?”

Catria grimaced. Some things she couldn’t take for granted here, and she was still getting used to that.

“Well, it’s a bit complicated—a long time ago, our entire continent was kind of ruled by the largest empire, called Archanea. And that’s why, even when the empire shrunk down into just half the continent, we still refer to the whole landmass as Archanea. I know it’s confusing—just forget it. The point I’m trying to make is; I think you’re missing out if you’re excluding commoners like that.”

“Pray, you should tell of your continent’s military ways to my brother”, Clair smiled at her (Catria could tell she was still confused, but she seemed relieved they could continue their conversation on a topic she understood). “He wants what’s best for all of Zofia, after all. He’s had some doubts if his methods to mix commoners and nobles have any hope of success. Surely, your story could serve as an inspiration!”

“I, uhh, maybe?” The thought of lecturing Clive on anything wasn’t an appealing one. Catria didn’t exactly know the man, but her first impression had been that he wasn’t easily swayed. “I’m not here to stay, so we might not have time.”

Clair’s lips formed a circle again. “You are not here to join the Deliverance?”

Catria looked toward the east. “I can’t speak for Celica. I don’t know any of y’all’s politics and wars. We joined up with the priestess because we have the same aim, but if she’s changed her mind after meeting you… Me and my sister are still gonna leave. It doesn’t matter who we tag along with, or if we go alone; we’ll keep searching “

“Pray tell”, Clair asked, “searching for what?”

Catria shouldn’t have said anything, but now it was too late, and she had to explain herself despite the lump that grew in her throat.

_Est might be gone, she might have fallen into the sea and drowned, she might have been used as a target for archery practice, she might have been maimed, she might have been stabbed and left to bleed to death in a dark cellar—_

“My baby sister.” Catria shoved the tip of her javelin into the dry earth to clean off the worst grime. “Pirates came. Have you lot seen her? She’s got short pink hair, she’s really loud and happy even when she’s sad. She’s a bit of an odd one. You wouldn’t forget her if you’d met her.”

“Pirates?” Clair exclaimed. “Alas, Zofia has struggled with those for many years. That they’d cross the sea to plague you as well—I am distraught to hear it! We encountered many brigands and the men of that cowardly treacherous councillor Desaix, but I’m afraid I have not seen anyone that sounds like she could be your sister.”

Of course not. If she wasn’t dead already, Est was in the east, in some gross Pirate King’s dungeons, probably crying herself to sleep and freezing and wondering what was taking her sisters so long—

The lump in her throat overpowered her, and tears stung her eyes. She tried to hide herself by bowing her head, but she knew she was being incredibly obvious.

“Oh my...”

Something blurry and white appeared in front of Catria’s bent down head, and she blinked furiously to see what it was.

A... piece of cloth? It was embroidered with golden roses, and of such fine craftsmanship it must have taken years to complete just this tiny piece of fabric. She glanced up on Clair.

“Dry your tears, please, lady— or peasant— Catria.”

With _that_? Catria had three layers of dirt on her cheeks, her tears making it into sticky mud – and she’d use _that _to clean herself off with? She shook her head, with tears that kept flowing.

Why’d this noble be so kind and generous to a complete stranger? It reminded her so of Marth and Caeda, her heart positively ached.

“I couldn’t”, she sobbed. “Thank you—I’m sorry—“

“No apologies needed”, Clair smiled, but she retreated her little piece of cloth. “You have my sincere condolences... What a terrible fate! I too was held captive for a few weeks by Desaix men, but I prevailed and was not giving up hope! Surely, your sister must uphold the same strength!”

“Haw”, Catria sobbed. “Thanks... Oh, gods, I can’t believe I’m bawling like a kid— But yeah, Est is strong, all right. We’re hoping she’s escaped, but that would mean she could be anywhere.”

“It’s settled, I’d say”, Clair said and put her hands on her reins. “Come with me, peasant-knight Catria! I will lead you around the castle grounds for you to ask around. And if any of my Deliverance companions try to dismiss you, they’ll have me to answer to!”

Catria smiled through her tears.

Yeah, maybe this continent wasn’t... completely awful.


	13. Ram Kids Reunite

_Ram village was smaller than the villa Celica had left behind, which hadn’t even been a very large villa to begin with; at least not from what Celica’s eight-year-old mind could gather._

_Celica sat hunched in the saddle in front of Sir Mycen. His armor breastplate was hard to rest her head against, and the back of her neck ached from week-old burns, so she chose to rest her head against the horse’s mane. She called him “Horsie”, even though he had a more impressive name just like all mighty war-horses did. But he was no Steelbringer when he carried Celica on his back, he was gentle, didn’t rock his head too harshly and avoided making too much noise. The smell of earth and dust from the horse’s fur had turned familiar after a few days, the warmth and movement like a safe cradle._

_Horsie protected her from the memory of fire._

_Seeing Ram village from the first time from his back made everything less terrifying, despite the novelty. Celica’s gaze wandered over a chicken coop where a blond girl cursed at a rooster to stop pecking her braids. The next thing that caught her attention was an uneven wooden fence, where a large man nailed a new plank over a broken one and what could only have been his kids bickered over who’d get to hand him the next nail. _

_Horsie put her above it all, turned her into an observer, and she was safe._

_At least until Mycen pulled at the reins in front of a small house with dried grass as a roof. A scrawny cat lay stretched out on the rocks of the walkway, drinking in the sunlight, giving Celica a lazy stare, before it blinked and curled into a comfortable ball._

_“Grandpa!”_

_Celica’s chest grew cold when the door to the house opened, and a boy her age grinned from ear to ear._

_“Grandpa, you’re home!”_

_Mycen dismounted, careful not to pull Celica down with him, and took the reins so Horsie wouldn’t trot off to the awaiting drinking well with her still on his back._

_Celica hadn’t realized how important Mycen’s back had been for her support, and she wobbled, her hands digging into Horsie’s mane. She fought against the urge to close her eyes, and stared at the boy with the most intimidating frown she could muster._

_“Where did you go?” the boy asked Mycen, his wide eyes set on Celica. He was clearly not intimidated, despite her attempts._

_Mycen sighed and shook his head. “I went to visit my late sister’s son’s husband”, he answered, which Celica knew was a lie._

_Mycen had repeated many, many lies on their way to Ram village, so Celica could practice telling them. One of them being that her name was ‘Celica’, but that was actually the least difficult lie to tell. She liked that name a lot._

_“The husband had a child from before their marriage”, Mycen smiled and gestured up at Celica. “This is her, and her name is Celica. She’s sort of your half-cousin. She needs to live here for a while, since her fathers are sick.”_

_The boy’s face lit up. “I have a half-cousin!”_

_“Celica”, Mycen said and turned his head toward her. “This is my grandson, Alm. He’ll show you around the village. Won’t you, Alm?”_

_The boy looked so happy and proud. Celica wasn’t afraid of him, but that didn’t mean she was ready to get down. She threw the reins over Mycen’s elbow, her gaze set on Alm._

_“From Horsie”, she said, and she would not allow being denied._

_Alm shrugged and took the reins, looking no less happy. “Okay. Let’s go say hi to Tobin, first!” _

_***_

_As the years passed on by, Celica grew less afraid. She could make fire come out of her palm and thrust it into the lake and cause a giant splash, and once Kliff, the youngest kid in their friend circle, found his affinity for fire as well, the two of them competed who could make the largest splash while the rest of the group cheered them on._

_When Tobin, Gray and Alm practiced with their wooden swords, Celica hopped over the fence to join them. Her ferocious yells echoed over the woods, and she was equally bruised once they returned to the village. Faye, who had an affinity for healing, put her hand over the worst injuries, all while scowling at how messy and sloppy and irresponsible they were._

_Celica would follow Faye out hunting too, although she herself was worthless with the bow and arrow. At least she picked up a thing or two how to sneak up on unsuspecting prey, and Faye got company and someone who witnessed her as she shot game, which obviously pleased her. Celica and Alm would be invited over to her house to share the meat, while Celica exaggerated Faye’s courage and precision until they were both giggling on the floor._

_It felt like no time at all, and yet an eternity, until it was suddenly time for Celica to turn eleven._

_It was just like any other day. She and the rest of the Ram kids ran out onto the meadows after breakfast and morning chores, which was quite a bit away from the village itself. Beautiful grassland with flowers everywhere, like an enticing lake of land right by an actual lake of water._

_“Okay”, Faye announced, her head held high – she was playing the role of their leader at the moment, something she and Alm usually took turns in doing. “In just a week, one of our dedicated members will turn ELEVEN.”_

_Everyone giggled at the formality, even Faye._

_“Okay, okay—schhh, guys!” Faye cleared her throat. “As such, we have prepared a HUGE surprise for her!”_

_“It definitely isn’t a gigantic orange curd cake”, Tobin nodded._

_Faye shot him an annoyed glare and shoved an elbow into his side. “Definitely not, no. Ahem—but even so, the celebration starts now! Alm, will you do the honors?”_

_Alm had worn his cloak and wooden sword, which Celica thought had been because he wanted to look formal and nice, but it must have been a ruse to be able to hide the wreath of flowers he now pulled from behind his back._

_“Celica”, he said with a bow. “You are henceforth the Birthday Girl, and I promise to do your chores for the rest of the week. Do you accept the Crown of Birthdays?”_

_Celica laughed and nodded, and everyone cheered as Alm straightened to put it on her head._

_“The bow stays on?” he asked quietly, only to her._

_Celica nodded again. “The bow stays on.”_

_The pink silk band was all she had left from the home that had burned, and Celica rarely wanted it removed. She didn’t care if it looked wonky with the Crown of Birthdays on her head; this was how she felt the most at home._

_“Okay, then here comes the next part of the ritual”, Alm continued, seamlessly falling into the role of leader as he raised his hand. Every other kid did the same, including Celica, and the circle of hands grasped each other and formed the shape of a star._

_“Friendship...”_

_“...for...”_

_“...EVER!”_

_“WHOO!”_

_They threw their hands up and stumbled into one another. A pretty standard friendship-huddle for the Ram village kids._

_Everyone laughed together. Celica was just about to suggest they go bathe in the lake, when Gray suddenly pointed his finger and shouted._

_“Guys, aren’t those KNIGHTS?”_

_Celica followed his finger and narrowed her eyes. On the road around the meadow, toward Ram village, four people in armor rode on giant war-horses. They moved with determination._

_Celica’s chest turned cold._

_“Let’s go check it out”, Gray whooped, and grabbed Tobin by the wrist._

_“Wait, Gray, it could be dangerous”, Alm called after him, but it was too late. Gray was already on the way, so Alm shot after his friends, and Faye and Kliff followed right behind him._

_Given the choice to let her friends face the knights alone and standing in the middle of a meadow with a freezing cold chest, Celica knew what her choice would be. She ran, too._

_Gray reached the knights first. He skidded to a stop on the dusty road, and the knights halted too._

_Celica didn’t like the looks of them. They had smug-looking smiles and greedy eyes._

_“Hey, knights of Zofia!” Gray grinned wide. “What’re you doing here?”_

_The man at the front, with a pointy beard, curled his lip. “Children”, he said to himself. “That must mean we’re close to a village, right, boys?” He then smiled. “We are indeed knights of Zofia, on patrol to keep our fine kingdom safe. But you see, a bear stole our supplies, and we are in need of more.”_

_“There’re no bears around here”, Tobin mumbled. “And your bags look pretty full.”_

_The knight grinned wider. “Perceptive. Although we’re grown men, and we need our sustenance. Say, three sacks of bread, two barrels of wine, and five sacks of chicken should be enough, no?”_

_Faye paled. “We don’t have that much”, she said._

_“We take what you have, then”, the knight nodded. “I am Captain Slayde, loyal to the Councillor Desaix, and anything I ask for I will be given.”_

_Slayde tightened his reins. Celica knew he’d ride them down if they kept pestering him, but even if her friends thought the same, they weren’t moving. Celica stood rooted in place alongside them and watched in horror as Gray took a pebble off the ground and chucked it against Slayde’s armor._

_“My nana’s sick!” he yelled. “She needs food, too!”_

_“I don’t care about your nana”, Slayde hissed and readied his lance. “And I have no problem with killing children, I’ll have you know I’ve killed plenty in my days—“_

_Celica couldn’t stop herself. She aimed her fire at his face, the cold hatred within her overpowering her common sense. Her magic hit his lance, and he merely cursed and waved it in the air until the flames evaporated._

_And he looked at her._

_And he SAW her._

_And he knew her._

_“Very interesting”, Slayde said, and readied his lance again. “It seems I haven’t killed as many children as I thought.”_

_Celica was ready to fight and lose, but with the drums of galloping hooves, there was hope._

_Sir Mycen must have heard them, but even so, Celica couldn't believe how fast he was. He’d been out chopping wood last she’d seen him – how could he be saddled and armed already?_

_Turned out he wasn’t. He rode bareback. And with just his wooden axe as defense, he rammed straight into Slayde, breaking both his lance and hopefully his whole arm._

_“Turn around this instant, Knights of Zofia”, Mycen said, his voice deep nd threatening. “I have no interest in showing these children what it means to murder a coward.”_

_Slayde hugged his arm toward his chest, but he smiled still. “VERY interesting indeed. So this is where you’ve hidden, Mycen. We seek food, and find a traitor’s den.”_

_“You are the only traitor here”, Mycen said through his teeth. “Run back, and I will not see you nailed to a tree.”_

_Slayde watched him under half-closed eyelids, measuring him. Even if it was three against one, even if Mycen had nothing but a woodchopper’s axe, Slayde looked hesitant to engage. Celica didn’t know that much about Mycen’s past life, but there was no doubt that he knew how to fight._

_“Tch”, Slayde finally said. “I’ll be seeing you, old man. I’d sleep with one eye open if I was you.”_

_With that, the knights turned around and trotted down the road away from the village, but Celica knew that this was not the last time she’d be recognized, nor the last time Slayde would try to hunt her down now that he knew she was alive._

_She still had the wreath of flowers in her hair when she was lifted up onto Horsie’s back._

_“But Grandpa—“_

_“No, Alm. You cannot come with her. Stay here, and if Slayde comes back, make sure everyone is hidden in the woods.”_

_“Celica”, Alm said and reached his hand out. “Will I see you again?”_

_Celica’s heart was broken to pieces, but she didn’t let that show. She only smiled at him._

_“Yeah”, she said. “Yeah, I hope so.”_

***

Zofia Castle used to be cold and imposing, a giant on the horizon. Unattainable for someone as small and forgotten as Celica.

She was right in the middle of it, now, and it was warmer than she’d expected. The marble floors were covered by carpets so soft she sank into them, the many windows framed by silk curtains, and filled to the brim with smiles and pointing fingers.

Most Deliverance soldiers had never seen anything like the castle, but they’d been here for a few days longer and seemed to really enjoy acting as guides for Celica’s little group. Boey and Mae had been shown to a window with a view all the way to the ocean, Genny sorted through the infirmary alongside one of the priestesses of the Deliverance, Valbar and Leon shared drinks with a bored-looking archer, and even Saber seemed to enjoy himself while a young man in lieutenant uniform showed him the castle’s weapons collection.

Celica passed them all by, and she enjoyed the sight, but there was still a lump in her chest she couldn’t be rid of. The Dilverance may not be tearing down art from the walls or hammer the throne to pieces, but this _was_ a sort of raid, nonetheless.

And despite the disgrace the last king had been to Mila’s favor, Celica recognized this place as a holy hall. She spotted Mila’s honors everywhere, even though the idols and images were put in corners to collect dust, and it hurt her to witness.

The droughts and disfavors these later years was Mila’s protest to this disgrace, of that Celica was sure. Nothing else could explain the sudden death of lush forests and emptying of the ocean’s fish.

Someone needed to speak to her, show her that these mistakes could be atoned for. Mila was surrounded by priestesses at all times in her temple – Celica’s mother having been one of them – but they might not have the determination to argue with her the way Celica was ready to do.

These droughts had to stop. For Zofia, for Novis, for everyone she cared about, Celica would take on her role as priestess wholly and fully. Mila no longer protected them from priests of Duma crossing over to Zofia, and as soon as the priestesses of Mila’s temple heard about that, they too would side with Celica. Even though she felt ill by the fresh memory of cantored beasts breaking through holy soil, Duma’s breach of the Divine Accords would work in her favor in the long run.

_No Rigelian may cross to Zofia, no Zofian to Rigel. Duma’s hearth may not burn on Mila’s land, nor Mila’s opulence spread over Duma’s earth. _Every human of faith could recite the Divine Accords. And although it wasn’t unheard of that people still crossed over the borders, the utter defiance from this Duma priest had never happened in the history of the Twin Gods.

Zofia was on the verge of collapse now more than ever, and if no-one rectified the errors made by the last king and the usurper Desaix, Mila’s face may never again be turned toward them. And they’d all slowly die.

It wasn’t an option. Celica was here in search of help, and she held fast onto that hope.

Celica kept walking, searching the faces of those around her. She’d heard rumors of a boy named _Alm_ being the leader of this Deliverance, and she kept expecting to recognize those she met. She’d gone pretty far past the great hall without knowing anyone (except Catria, who was deep in conversation with a servant girl who looked absolutely mortified but was kept in place by a gentle hand on her shoulder from a Deliverance knight).

If she followed this hallway, she supposed she’d find the throne room, because the portraits on the walls were arranged like an alleyway of kings and queens. All flaunting Mila’s mark and red or brown curls beneath a crown larger than their head. Celica grimaced and opened the door at the end of the hallway.

At least ten people buzzed about in there, and at first her mind didn’t react to any of them, but then a blonde boy who couldn’t be more than eighteen whispered to those around him, and pointed right at Celica.

His two companions looked up, stared her right in the face, and didn’t move. Celica stopped too.

It was Tobin who reacted first. He clasped his hands together and let out a sound that was a weird mix between a squeal and a yell, and just like that, he, Gray and Kliff thundered into her with their arms open.

They all laughed as they embraced, no words exchanged yet. Kliff tore away first – he’d never been a big fan of hugging – and flattened his mage robes. Next to pull away was Tobin, and immediately afterwards, Gray.

“It _is _Celica, right?” Gray grinned at her. “A bit awkward, otherwise.”

Celica laughed and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “It is me. I nearly didn’t recognize you!”

“Same”, Tobin said and pointed vaguely at his head. “You don’t have a bow in your hair anymore.”

Celica stood stunned at the reminder. The bow that once had been so important to her had simply been forgotten and lost one day when she and Mae went bathing. And Celica had realized she wasn’t sad about it – more relieved, actually – and never gone to look for it. Mae gave her the diadem Celica now wore in its place just a few days later, and she’d almost forgotten all about the bow from her lost home.

“People’s fashion sense _can _change, you know”, Kliff muttered with a glare at Tobin, who simply shrugged.

“I see yours have”, Celica smiled at Kliff. “You’re a mage now?”

Kliff closed his eyes and tried to look solemn and serious. “The best in the Deliverance.”

“The _only _one in the Deliverance”, Tobin leaned forward and whispered behind his hand, which earned him a shove from Kliff and a laugh from Celica.

“Why are you _here_ of all places?” Celica chuckled in disbelief. “I thought you said you never wanted to leave Ram, Tobin?”

“Oh, you know”, Tobin shrugged. “Eleven-year-old me was very wise, but once the Deliverance came knocking on our doors and Alm joined up with them, I had no choice.” He elbowed Gray in the side. “You know how Gray always keeps running after Alm? That goes for civil war too, apparently. I couldn’t just let him leave alone.”

“Shut up the hero act”, Gray said and shoved him back. “Stop pretending you didn’t join up for the money, idiot.”

Tobin sniffed. “Okay, _someone _has five siblings to look after, so I can play the hero act all I want. Give me your salary if you don’t want it, or _you _shut up.”

“As you can see”, Kliff said to Celica and pointed a thumb at his friends. “These two never grew up.”

“Just ‘cuz you’re sixty years old at heart”, Gray snorted. “Speaking of old-at-heart, we’ve gotta go to Faye! She’ll lose her mind if she sees you, Celica! Then you can tell us all what you’ve been up to!”

As he spoke, he ran up to a door and slammed it open, revealing a room with a giant stair leading up to the balcony. At the bottom of the stair was Faye, looking so much like she always had with twin braids running down the front and a face kissed by sunlight. Like always there was a bow slung over her back, but the armor she wore was... Different. Leather pauldrons of two different sizes, a steel helmet with a nose-guard that didn’t cover her nose, and a too-long chainmail tunic with rust at the edges. The Deliverance couldn’t spare fitted and matching armors, Celica assumed, but with that she looked even _more _like Faye, who never could afford to wear anything that truly fitted her.

True to Gray’s guess, Faye did pretty much lose her mind, but she didn’t leave her post. She stuttered and pointed, and then laughed and took a hold of Celica’s shoulders when she came near enough.

“Celica! You found us! Wow, you look so tall!”

This had Celica laugh with her. The only one in their group that was shorter than her was _Genny_, and she was small enough to be confused with a child, so hearing herself be referred to as tall was genuinely new to her.

“Thanks”, she said. “You too, Faye.”

“What are you doing here? Are you here to join with the Deliverance?”

Celica couldn’t answer that, not yet, but she still smiled at Faye. “Think of me as a priestess, doing her humble work in Mila’s name.”

Faye’s eyes sparkled. “Mysterious as always”, she said, then looked to Tobin, Gray and Kliff. “Please don’t leave me alone with these weirdos ever again, okay, Celica?”

“You’re the weirdo”, Kliff muttered and shoved his hands in his pocket.

“No way to speak to your sister”, Faye snapped at him, before she once again turned her attention to Celica. “Seriously! It’s so good to see you! Going hunting was almost boring after you left! And so much has happened since then!”

“Yeah”, Tobin said and wiggled his eyebrows. “Faye’s got herself a crush, for example. But Silque definitely has a thing for Python too, who in turn seems to be into Forsyth – the Deliverance is full of drama!”

“I have a sword and I won’t hesitate to use it”, Faye threatened him with a glare. “Me and Silque are friends, just _leave it_.”

Tobin had a tendency to not understand the benefits of staying quiet, so for a nervous kid he’d also always been terribly outspoken. That hadn’t changed since they were children, it seemed, because he continued.

“Okay, okay”, he said and grinned wider. “Let’s instead talk about Gray who thinks he’s _totally _in love with Clair—“

“—and who also has a sword”, Gray mirrored Faye’s threat.

“Yeah-yeah”, Tobin said with a dismissive wave. “I’m just saying, I don’t think she’s interested in guys at all – I tried to flirt with her to prove a point, and that did not go over well.”

“Maybe that just means she isn’t interested in _you_”, Gray shrugged.

Tobin ruffled his hair and stared blankly out into the open as he would into a vanity mirror. “Denial isn’t a good look on you, Gray.”

Celica had no idea who either Silque, Python or Forsyth was, and only had a vague memory of the pegasus knight coming to their aid outside the castle being named Clair. She just smiled and nodded. She’d have time to adjust and learn their names, time to catch up—

“Tobin, Gray, Kliff – I thought I gave you all a rather important task?” A deep voice cut into their conversation, and steel boots drummed against the marble floor as an older man walked up to them.

“Mycen!” Celica couldn’t stop herself from flinging into his arms.

The harsh frown on Mycen’s face shifted into a softer one, and he returned the embrace. “Celica! I heard on the grapevine you were here! You killed a Duma priest and next thing you’ve simply barged in here without so much as a word?”

“It’s how I was raised”, Celica smiled against his armor.

“Let me look at you”, Mycen said and knelt down in front of her – she was still so short he had to do that to look her in the eye. He hadn’t shrunk like some elderly people did; his back was as straight as it always had been, his hair still silvery white, but his mustache was thinner and there were new wrinkles all over his face. But Celica still recognized him as the closest thing to a father she’d ever had.

And just like with her childhood friends, there were too many questions to ask, too many years she’d missed.

“Nomah treated you well?” Mycen smiled at her.

Celica nodded. Her memory of the Novis bishop was still fresh, and she realized how oddly her child-brain had applied Nomah’s features to her old memories of Mycen. Eventually she’d thought they’d looked pretty similar, but with him before her like this, it couldn’t be further from the truth. Mycen was all squarish shoulders and frowns, while Nomah was softness and smiles.

She missed Nomah too, a little bit. Strange how she’d get homesick for two places at once.

“You’re a welcome sight”, Mycen said and patted her shoulders. “But I will not steal you from your friends for much longer; although Gray, Tobin and Kliff has _important things to do_, don’t you? Stop bothering Faye on her guard duty!” He glared at the three boys, who skittered into something close to a salute.

“Yes sir!”

“We’ll go make arrangements for the new recruits, General-sir!”

Celica felt little guilty for distracting them, but at the same time, it’d been _eleven _years since she’s seen them last. Half her lifetime.

“There’s someone on the balcony who’d like to see you again, too”, Mycen smiled at her. “Your ‘_half-cousin_’.”

The lie slipped out of him as comfortable as any truth. Celica and Alm weren’t related in the slightest, but they’d pretended to be for long enough.

“Can’t he come down to us?” Celica asked, which had Mycen shake his head.

“Alm is the leader of the whole Deliverance”, he explained. “I sent him up on the balcony so he could get at least a few moments of time away. I think it better you go to him, so you can talk in peace. You’ll have plenty of time to speak to the rest of us – he’s usually a bit harder to reach, nowadays.”

Celica nodded, and as she walked past Faye, she put her hand on her shoulder. “I’ll come talk to you again soon”, she promised. “I just _have _to introduce you to Mae!”

Next thing she knew, she was walking up the three dozen steps to the balcony.

A slight chill travelled down her arms as she separated the thin wooden doors, but she got used to the crisper air pretty quickly.

Alm stood with his arms resting on the balcony railing, the evening sun like a blinding star behind his silhouette. He’d heard the doors open, and twisted around.

“Mycen?” he asked. “Is it already time?”

He saw her, then, and his eyes widened in recognition.

Celica smiled at him. “Hello, Alm.”

At that moment, he was just like the boy who’d smiled at her down from the ground, holding Horsie’s reins – the same tousled greenish-brown hair, the same gleam in his eye, the same excitement behind his smiles.

They hugged for almost a full minute, laughing at nothing and everything. For those few moments, she felt as close to him as she’d done before, but it was a passing emotion.

There was a gaping gap between them, one that would be difficult to bridge. He didn’t _know_ her. Not like Boey and Mae and Genny did. But that was easily fixed – all she needed to do was tell him; tell him everything.

“Celica”, Alm grinned at her as they pulled apart. “What are you doing here?”

“It was high time for me to rise to the occasion and fight against Desaix”, Celica answered with a smile. “He disgraced our goddess, so I aimed to strike him down in the name of Mila. Then it turns out someone else is on the move against him – a mysterious Deliverance. And I thought they could use my gifts, perhaps.”

Alm smiled. “Nothing would make me happier than you joining our side.”

“Really”, Celica said and crossed her arms. “Not even orange curd?”

“Tough one”, Alm laughed and scratched his cheek. “But no, not even orange curd.”

They chuckled together, before Alm took a gentle hold of her arms. “It’s been so long, Celica, I’d almost given up hope of ever seeing you again. I was so sure you’d show up on any of our birthdays with magic-crafted fireworks, but the years just passed, and...”

“I’m sorry, Alm. I couldn’t leave.”

Alm let go of her, and hugged himself instead. “Where were you?”

“Mycen moved me to Novis to train as a priestess.”

“That explains your garb, I suppose.”

“Again, I’m sorry. It was the only place Slayde wouldn’t think to look for me.”

Alm nodded thoughtfully. “Slayde”, he repeated. “I spent years wondering why he’d said the things he said, and why Grandpa hurried in taking you away, but I never really understood. Did your family anger him, or something?”

“Something like that”, Celica answered, the truth too big and uncomfortable to speak right then.

“Either way, you don’t have to worry about him anymore”, Alm said and cleared his throat. “He was the one guarding the castle, and, well, Clive ran him through.”

“Oh”, Celica said, the knot in her belly loosening slightly. “But Desaix is still out there, right?”

Alm drummed his fingers on his sword’s hilt, a frown on his face. “Yes, he’s hiding out in the northwest, near the Rigelian border. He’s gaining troops from the Emperor of Rigel. Clive’s wife, Ser Mathilda, is currently holding them off, but Zofia has to march to her aid as soon as possible.”

“_Zofia_”, Celica repeated. “Surely, you mean... the Deliverance?”

Alm frowned deeper. “We’ve taken the castle”, he explained. “The people cheer us on and more join up with us by the minute. I don’t think it’s too arrogant of me to say we represent Zofia.”

The knot in her belly returned, and tighter than ever.

“What next? Will you sit on the throne?”

“I’m only trying to set things right, Celica. So yes, if that’s what I must do, then—“

“That throne is for those who bear Mila’s mark!” Celica hadn’t meant to shout. “No one else! Don’t you understand – we can’t do anything else to disgrace her!”

“Desaix murdered all the king’s children”, Alm countered her. “And then the king himself. There’s no-one left with Mila’s mark, anyway.”

Celica grabbed hold of her wrist, clenched her teeth. He really didn’t _get it_, did he—?

“And even if there was someone with the mark left alive”, Alm continued with a disdainful look into the sky, “it wasn’t like it went that well even while King Lima was here. All he did was use Mila’s name to get whatever he wanted. He was a terrible king, and his mother before him was a terrible queen, and so forth and so forth—“

“Mila’s chosen line is cursed to be awful”, Celica interrupted him. “Is that what you’re saying? If you even knew the height of your blasphemy—“

“They were born knowing they could get everything they pointed at”, Alm snapped and clenched his fists. “That’s how almost every Zofian was born to live before the droughts, and now they barely know how to fight for survival. I have no interest in the throne, but I want for the people of Zofia to learn how to stop their suffering, and they will only listen to a strong king.”

“That’s the teachings of Duma you speak of”, Celica said, her voice cold.

“Why is this about the _gods_? The west is already dying, Celica! Ram village’s lake is halfway to drying out completely.”

“Because of Mila’s people _turning their backs_ on her”, Celica fired back. “Alm, this is serious! I think you’re making everything worse!”

“You’d rather we sit and wait for the entire western Zofia to be raided and taken by Rigel?”

“That’s not it”, Celica glared at him. “Alm, listen to me. You’re fighting for justice and peace, but only as a common man. Do not say you act as Zofia’s leader. I plead to you to leave the throne vacant – if you don’t, Mila will know. All we’ve seen until now is her indifference, but if we continue to defile her legacy, we will see her _rage_.”

“Are you seriously preaching to me right now”, Alm said, his eyes narrowed. “Being a priestess really changed you, huh?” 

“_I’m _changed?” Celica’s breath was hot in her throat, and she pinched her eyes shut.

Things would be simpler if he knew who she was, but she couldn’t tell him. She’d known the boy, but she didn’t know this man at all. She’d awoken in a bunk bed above him for many nights, she’d splashed dishwater in his face many mornings, and she’d come running at him with a wooden sword on countless days. Always trusted him to play with her, always trusted him that they could come to terms and reconcile. But she didn’t trust him now.

“The entire Deliverance is marching to the west, then?” Celica continued, trying to compose herself. “What if I told you that the east is equally in need of protection and help, with a pirate king raiding both land and shore? What if I told you that a Duma priest came all the way to the castle just to find those who serve Mila? What if I told you that all our wars could be solved if we free Mila’s lands from murderers and raiders and go to Mila’s temple and reconcile with her?”

Alm regarded her in silence, then shook his head.

“It’s always about the gods, Alm”, Celica said, and breathed through her nose. “They rule with more power than we could ever fathom. We _need _them.”

“We aren’t their playthings”, Alm answered her. “And I’m going to clear out the west, then we march to Rigel to end their supply of troops against our borders.”

“Rigel, too?” Celica inhaled shakily, couldn’t stop the tears from escaping her eyes. “If that’s how it is, I think you realize our paths must diverge.”

“It doesn’t have to be that way”, Alm said and crossed his arms tighter, looking as though he wanted to hide. “Our plans are already set, but we could change them so you and your priestess friends get to speak for Mila at my side – our march can’t upset the goddess if there are devoted believers among us, right?”

“_You murder a man and say you’re only joking, thinking it will free you of sin_“, Celica recited, her tears hot on her cheeks. “Mila recognizes pretenders. Her followers aren’t for any leader to flaunt in an attempt to gain her favor. I am leaving tonight. Good luck with your war, Alm.”

She turned around and slammed the balcony doors open, without looking back.


	14. Queen of Zofian High Society

Catria was almost comfortable after an hour in the castle.

Sure, it had a rough start. Her guided tour had begun with Clair grabbing hold of Clive and pulling him in front of Catria, telling him ‘_she has something VERY important to say to you_’ – which ended in Catria sputtering the most incomprehensible recap of Macedon’s history in front of the piercing eyes of a knight.

“So – uh – we were slaves to the Dragons at one point, yeah? A thousand years ago, give or take, what would become us Macedonans just toiled on until this one guy Iote and his girlfriend Agathae started wrecking stuff. They caused a _lot _of trouble, and after the First Dragon War, they founded Macedon. So _anyway_, these two weren’t noble or special or anything, and it’s kind of been their legacy to give everyone in their kingdom as equal chances as possible, see? That said, a commoner ruling alongside nobility isn’t popular even in Macedon, but whatever else they wanna do they can do if they’re good enough at it. What I’m _saying_ is that, uh, I mean – what _Clair_ wanted me to tell you – is that letting commoners rise in military ranks isn’t going to mean a collapse of your world, because we’ve been doing that for a thousand years or more and all things considered, we’re doing pretty well.”

It was a blessed moment when she finally shut up. Her face was burning, and she could imagine princess Maria’s embarrassed laughter and Commander’s tired palm over her eyes, if they’d heard her. Her present audience was bad enough.

Clive didn’t react as she thought he’d do, though. His face softened, and he nodded solemnly.

“Thank you”, he said and put a hand on her shoulder. “Hearing such an outlandish tale is a great comfort to me. I keep thinking I’ll bring Zofia to ruin by changing our hierarchy, but many commoners we’ve let join us certainly are skilled – skilled enough to stand beside me as a knight one day. Perhaps we too can change.”

Catria didn’t know how to answer that, but either way, she’d apparently succeeded in what Clair had asked her to do. That didn’t mean she ever wanted to give another inspirational speech to a stranger ever again.

“You should be careful to share that tale with the Faithful”, Clive said in a low voice and patted her on the shoulder. “If you do, skip the part about... _'dragon’s slaves'_. Lest you put yourself in danger.”

Catria choked down the questions she wanted to ask. She could conclude one thing from that, and it was that for whatever reason, the Faithfuls liked dragons. The next thing she had to figure out was what exactly a _Faithful_ was. Celica and Mae and Boey and Genny all talked about the same goddess – that Mila-person – so perhaps they all were Faithfuls? What were they liking _dragons_ for?

She wasn’t given much time to think about it before Clair bid her brother farewell, took Catria by the shoulders and led her onward, into the castle.

Clair knew everyone inside by name, and her reason for that was because she was the Queen of Zofian High Society – which was definitely a self-proclaimed title, but who’d Catria be to judge? She was a fantastic guide, and she knew how to make people calm enough to listen to Catria’s questions about Est (and not run away at the sight of her).

The first ones she spoke to were a dynamic duo that started yapping at each other just a few sentences into the conversation. Words like ‘_lazy_’ and ‘_fool_’ were thrown around quite a lot, and Catria was none the wiser at the end of it.

“That is simply how Forsyth and Python are”, Clair explained. “Quite boorish, indeed. We’ll try again once they’re separated. Come, let us speak to Lukas!”

Catria exchanged words with soldiers and maids and craftsmen and merchants alike, catching glimpses of people she already knew, like Mae, Genny, Valbar and Celica. The castle’s marble halls weren’t as bad to be in when there was so much life around her, but still too extravagant for Catria to fully accept it.

They’d almost reached the center, where a great polished stone stair led up to what must have been an equally polished and glittering balcony.

“I understand that is where our leader resides at the moment”, Clair gestured at the closed doors to the balcony.

Catria tried to glimpse the vague shadows that moved beyond the door. “Can we speak to him, you think?”

“Please don’t”, a voice said from the left of them. “Alm’s talking to Celica right now, so he’s busy.”

Catria’s gaze shifted to where the voice came from, and was met by a woman with twin braids and a mismatched set of armor. Given her disciplined stance and position, she must have been guarding the balcony entrance.

Catria merely shrugged. “Can we speak to you, then?”

The girl narrowed her eyes at Catria, cautious, but not aggressive. “Why?”

Despite the suspicious start, their conversation turned out to be one of the calmer ones, and yet again, Catria felt comfortable.

At least until Palla arrived.

Catria had almost smiled at least twice, before Palla slammed a fancy carved door open and dampened any trace of joy within her.

Right. Even though Catria had been asking two dozen people about Est, the look on Palla’s face made her feel like she hadn’t been serious enough. Which was pretty common. Palla had an incredible knack for looking as serious as death itself.

“Hey”, Catria greeted her. Her voice sounded empty and small.

Clair frowned and tilted her head. “Is this an acquaintance of yours, Peasant-Knight Catria?”

“Oh, yeah, it’s my big sis”, Catria said as quickly as she could, and clasped her hands in front of her and leaned away from the stair railings she’d loitered against. “Welcome to the Zofian Castle, Palla. How’d scouting go?”

Palla stopped before them and let her gaze wander over Clair and the girl with twin braids, before she crossed her arms and let it fall on Catria. Her eyes were not kind, but they weren’t _un_kind, either.

“I thought we agreed to meet _outside_, Catria.”

“Yeah, right, but—See, this is _Clair_, and she agreed to help me ask around for Est! There are tons of people who’ve combed through western Zofia during their march here, so I thought I could get some recon done while I waited for you.”

Palla pulled a hand along the side of her throat, her stance exhausted, but her gaze flickered with a sudden hope.

“And—?”

“Nothing.”

Palla’s hand moved up to pinch the back of her nose, and she closed her eyes with a sigh. “Same here. There’s not a trace of her anywhere.”

The girl with twin braids carefully cleared her throat. “Like I was about to say before – I’m sure I could ask Lukas to put up posters, if anyone can draw her likeness.”

“That’s a splendid idea, Faye!” Clair smiled at the girl, and nodded proudly at Catria as if she’d just fixed all their problems.

Far from it, but at least she tried harder than Catria expected out of a stranger. Marth or Caeda would have done the same, and that was perhaps the main reason why Catria was growing more comfortable in her presence. In general, this whole place wasn’t so bad, not with all the people she’d had a conversation with. The Deliverance was like a Valentian _League_, albeit much, _much _smaller. Couple hundred, at the most. The fact that they’d successfully laid siege to this place and won was perhaps a testament to that they could work wonders.

So perhaps they could perform another miracle, and _actually_ find Est for them.

Palla might be thinking the same; she would at least not oppose the idea of posters. She let go of her nose and opened her eyes, then bowed her head in Faye’s direction.

“Thank you kindly, dame Faye. We accept any offer of assistance.”

“Yeah”, Catria said with a hand on Palla’s shoulder, and leaned closer to her sister. “See, I’ve got this covered, sis. You rest up for a bit, all right? You look like you need it.”

Palla’s gaze wandered over the unfamiliar faces around her, revealing nothing of her thoughts. She looked a bit like Commander when she did that (they’d rubbed off on one another quite a lot in later years). In other words, she looked pretty terrifying, which she might not even be aware of. So yeah, maybe not just a _bit _like Commander; _exactly _like her.

“I’d rather not”, Palla said. “I heard from Valbar that you’d been in a fight; if there’s a threat abound, I will not let my guard down.”

“Oh”, Catria said and chuckled nervously. “That fight wasn’t anything much—I wasn’t even directly involved, all right? Some priest dragged dead people out of the ground and used them as an army. It was _extremely_ weird, but no one was seriously hurt.”

“Dead people”, Palla echoed, her statue-like expression faltering. “I saw the mess outside the gates, but I simply assumed the castle was built on an old cemetery.”

Catria nodded and patted her shoulder. “That would still be weird, but certainly _less_ weird than what actually happened.”

“It’s called _cantoring_”, Faye butted in with a frown, clearly tired of seeing Catria trying to explain things. “When magic eats at your energy, you can direct that life force into rocks and bones beneath the ground and make them think they’re alive again. They’re empty husks, but they can move and wield weapons well enough to hurt people.”

“Uh-huh”, Catria said, with a glance on Clair (who looked unbothered by this information). “So, pretty evil?”

Faye shrugged. “Any magician can cantor, but it’s generally frowned upon.”

Catria nodded stiffly. She wasn’t nearly as comfortable anymore. Now she just wanted to go home.

And maybe she was in luck, because as soon as the thought passed her head, another door slammed open and Celica rushed out from the balcony, her eyes reddened from tears.

“Palla”, she greeted. “Catria. We’re leaving, as soon as everyone is ready.”

Faye gaped at this news and immediately darted forward to stand in front of Celica. “What—Wait, Celica, you only just got here! I thought you were here to join the Deliverance?”

Celica stopped and smiled at her, even with her eyes still gleaming. “I thought so too, but it turns out we disagree on what needs to be done. I won’t go to Rigel. I won’t march west, nor north. My path leads to Mila’s temple, and not to a _war_.” She rubbed her eyes with the front of her wrist. “It was really lovely to meet you and Gray and Tobin and Kliff again – I’ve missed you – but I can’t abandon Mila, Faye.”

“I guess I get that”, Faye gave a sad smile and fiddled with a braid. “You’re a priestess now, and you always were super-dedicated. Why the rush, though? You can’t stay the night?”

Celica looked a little bit ill by the thought – whatever had gone down between her and this Alm-person, it couldn’t have been pretty. Catria could relate somewhat. When prince Michalis had become _King _Michalis, Catria had curled herself into a ball beneath the covers and only thought of one thing - _leaving_. Nothing was worse than living in a home where the mere thought of someone’s presence suffocated everything else. Back then she’d feel safer sleeping in a literal ditch out on the road.

“I don’t want to overstay my welcome”, Celica answered Faye, and her tone trembled a little. “I fear that would overcomplicate things.”

Faye bit her lip and nodded. “But it’s not good-bye forever, right? I’ve missed you too, you know.”

“It’s not good-bye forever”, Celica promised, and took her hand. “Help me round up anyone who wants to come with me, and we’ll still have some time together. Plus, I said I’d introduce you to Mae, and I’m not leaving until I have!”

\---

The whole branching of paths was civilized. They all met up in the great hall, their backpacks and saddlebags secured, while Deliverance soldiers handed the Warriors of Mila (which Mae now called Celica’s squad) any provisions they could spare. Boey swapped tomes with a blond, scowling farmer-kid. Saber handed a whetstone to an eager-looking boy who seemed very new to this being-a-soldier-thing, Genny hugged a cleric with a blue headdress, and Mae and Faye were very interested in each other’s braiding techniques. Seemed connections had grown despite their short time together.

Catria didn’t expect to be part of it, the way she stood by the side with an exhausted Palla, but she’d been wrong not to. Because as they were ready to go, Clair stepped forth, a beautiful backpack slung over her shoulder. 

“Lady Celica”, Clair announced, her voice clear as a bell. “I shall show you the way! My family house is to the east of here, and while it might not be much, there could be provisions to spare for your journey through the desert lands.”

“Clair”, Clive exclaimed, his voice level and calm despite the fact that he looked just as surprised as the rest. “Do not be ridiculous. We have a mission, and it is due _west_.”

“I am aware”, Clair answered, holding her head high. “But I will not take long. There could still be bandits and rouge soldiers afoot! I will guide the good priestess on the right roads, and then I will come to you. I know how to fly, lest you forget.”

Clive brushed his chin his gaze stuck on the floor with concern growing on his face. He looked as though he considered the audience around them, weighed his words carefully. But before he had the chance to speak again, Clair raised a perfect hand.

“There is nothing you can say to change my mind”, she said. “I promise I will travel safely, and I will find you within a few day’s time. Worry not for my sake!”

And that was that. When Celica’s little group took off and had the castle at their backs, they also had Clair in the lead.

There were still a few hours of sunlight left, and Catria’s turn to scout ahead for any sign of Est. Although this time, it was strangely difficult to tear herself away from their small caravan. That was certainly new, and Catria wasn’t sure what to think of it.

\---

The night out on the road was like any other. Catria took the later guard shift, and her companion became Boey. That wasn’t so bad, being wrapped in blankets and staring out into the darkness as it slowly turned to morning, but Catria found herself more interested to glance over where Clair had made her own bed of fresh heather.

Catria couldn’t pretend – this night was _not _like any other night. Not with Clair around. She’d spent more than half an hour meticulously plucking away sticks and pebbles and flattened uneven ground with the argument ‘_a good noble doesn’t wake up with aching backs_’.

Catria, on the other hand, had just found a vaguely flat piece of forest that wasn’t entirely made of thorns, and laid down to sleep on it.

And sure, her back had ached when she awoke, but she now had plenty of time to stretch it as she passed the hours with Boey. A very, very quiet Boey.

Which was peaceful, but also kind of boring – and the worst kind of boring. Her mind screamed at her to _do something_. Scout ahead, ask around, explore every nook and cranny—

This kind of boring that only got worse with time, too. Two hours had slowly ticked by, and by the Gods, if she didn’t engage her mind in some way, the restlessness would turn unbearable.

“You are a mage, right?” Catria broke the silence, and Boey nearly jumped out his shoes.

“Wh—Yes?” He stared at her, his brown eyes gleaming in the weak light before dawn. “Uh—Sorry, I wasn’t prepared for you to _speak_.”

“I get it”, Catria shrugged. “I haven’t been chatty. I just wondered about a magic-related thing.”

Boey frowned, but nodded at her to continue.

“See, someone in the castle said magic drains your life”, Catria went on. “I know plenty of mages back in Archanea, and I’m pretty sure that magic _doesn’t _do that. I mean, yeah, it can kill you, but only if it fills you up too much, or if you reach too far away.”

Boey chuckled nervously. “Why would magic _fill _you? When you cast a spell, _you _are the source, and the more powerful the spell, the more it will suck the life out of you. That’s the first thing you learn.”

Catria shrugged again. “Not the way I heard it, but whatever. Thanks for answering.”

“No, no”, Boey said and leaned slightly toward her. “You’ve got to tell me more, just— Just try to explain what you mean!”

“I’m no mage”, Catria grunted and drummed her fingers against her chin. “I might be wrong on this, but I mean, not a single one of my mage friends has hinted at magic being cast from themselves? It’s always coming from the outside. I’m talking like how healers walk around and have this nurturing aura around them while their feet are on the ground, because they’re connected to the magic source of the earth, and how those with fire affinity pull heat out of the air, you know?”

Boey’s expression told her that he did, in fact, _not _know.

“Just forget I asked”, Catria hastily added. “Sorry to bother you.”

Boey simply gaped, his brow so furrowed it would probably end in cramps, and he ignited a tiny spark of fire in his palm, extinguished it, and re-ignited it. Then he looked up into the sky, mouthing ‘_what?_’ before he once again ignited a flame and mouthed another ‘_what?_’.

Whatever he tried to do, he clearly failed at it, but that didn’t stop him from trying over and over again.

Catria might have broken him. She should have known better than to ask, but she’d been curious about it. Valentia’s magic was clearly different from theirs, so she could add that to the list of things that was strange about this land.

Catria’s eyes once again wandered over to Clair. Her perfect square of a bed looked quite impressive compared to the others, and even the way she twisted in her sleep looked composed and regal.

She was definitely on the list of weird things. But not in a bad way. Not in a bad way, at all.

\---

Just like in the castle, Clair took her mission as a guide very seriously. She rode on the ground with her head held high, her finger always pointing one way or another. _That_ way was an old abandoned fortress that could house bandits, _this_ way ended in a village, this _other_ road went through a forest while the one they were currently on branched down toward the seashore.

According to Clair, the road by the coast was the safest, and though it was freezing cold, none of Celica’s squad complained. They seemed very pleased to smell ocean winds – Catria had learned most of them had grown up on a pretty small island far out in the southern sea, so maybe this felt a little bit like home.

Catria didn’t mind, either. She rode with the frontrunners, as usual, with Mae and Boey bickering over something or other while Boey tried to explain his recently gained theories on Archanean magic to her.

Catria barely listened. Instead she watched whatever landmark Clair pointed out to Saber, trying not to think too much. Something was a bit weird, though – Clair’s pegasus eventually slowed down, until it walked beside Catria’s.

Maybe that had been unintentional. She’d realize her mistake any second.

Any second.

Catria glanced over at her. Saltwater sparkled on the tips of her hair, a hauntingly pretty sight. A knot tied itself around Catria’s chest once she realized Clair’s anticipatory stance was meant for her. She’d had to be thinking of something to say, and to _her _of all people.

“So, uh”, Catria tried to start a conversation. “Clair, huh? It’s a nice name.”

Clair raised her brows and smiled politely at her. “Ah, thank you; it’s a testament to the noble attribute of _clarity_, the way my brother’s name is an homage to the word _chivalry_.”

Catria shrugged, and before she could stop herself, said; “Should’ve named him ‘_Chive_’, then.”

She heard how dumb it sounded, and immediately regretted it. She was an embarrassing disgrace, she should never ever speak again—

Clair chuckled. Maybe it wasn’t that bad, then?

“Well”, Clair scoffed a laugh, “it doesn’t sound as noble. The name is an important aspect of a person, and a huge responsibility for any parent.”

“Sure”, Catria said, “but I mean, it’s not all on the parent. I chose mine on my own.“

“Indeed a fair point! That does happen occasionally.” Clair tilted her head and smiled warmly at her. “I must say your taste in names is quite excellent, Catria.”

“Aw”, Catria answered, but it was more like a nervous exhale. “I, uh, I like yours too.”

Clair smile widened, far more cheeky than polite, this time. “So you said.”

“_Right_”, Catria blurted, way louder than intended (she could see Saber give her a weird look). “Speaking of nothing, though – your home, is it by the sea, perhaps?”

“Not at all”, Clair chuckled. “Just beyond the first row of mountains you see in the distance is an area quite populous and grand! The earth is rich, even these last few years of drought – it is the finest noble house of all Zofia!” 

“That sounds fancy”, Catria said hesitantly, but didn’t touch on the subject further. “Although you call those mountains? They’re more like hills.”

Clair narrowed her eyes and looked away. “I suppose you could say so”, she sniffed. “Compared to the mountain range further east, they do look rather small.”

“No less lovely”, Catria hastily said, afraid she’d been too dismissive. “I mean, I—I grew up in the mountains back in Macedon—Archanea, I mean. They were so tall, there were no trees growing at the top. Just snow. Way back when, dragons used to live there, too.”

“Dragons”, Clair repeated, her face turned toward the endless horizon to the south of them. “What an honor it must have been to live so close!”

Catria’s mind completely blanked, caught in the memory of blinding fire and unstoppable scaly bodies crushing everything in their wake.

An honor. Sure. Sure. Sure. Absolutely.

She just _had_ to run her mouth. Now she was stuck in speechless silence, with no comfortable way out. She remembered Clive’s warning – don’t speak badly of dragons in the presence of the Faithful. Was Clair a Faithful? But she’d heard Catria’s terrible recap of Macedon’s history, too, and she hadn’t complained. Maybe she’d simply forgotten the part about dragons being horrible masters – which was difficult for Catria to wrap her head around, considering how that was one of the most widely accepted truths of Archanea.

Valentians must _really _love dragons.

She considered mentioning the very real war the dragons had thrown Archanea into, with very real consequences, but it wasn’t exactly a fun topic. Clair would either be distraught or bored, neither of which Catria wanted. No, she truly, desperately, wanted to... wanted to _impress_ her.

Oh, by the Gods.

No. No way.

Her throat burned as the blush spread over her face. Was her heart truly so easily given?

She focused on the road ahead.

Clair kept speaking to her – about how jewels on dresses were a waste, how _difficult _it was to play the lute and that there was this very interesting story she’d read about people living underneath the ocean – and while Catria was over the moon about receiving her attention, half her mind was now dedicated to not say anything awkward.

It was kind of a relief when Palla came to switch places with her. Catria shot from the ground and sailed over the hills. The wind didn’t cool her down in the slightest, because her cheeks were still on fire.

**\---**

Dusk came closer for each beat of wings. Once Catria returned to Celica’s little caravan, her head had cooled.

She knew exactly what she had to do. She simply wouldn’t engage in more conversation with Clair at all. She’d just stay back, and don’t lose her head like a fool.

She could do that much. Obviously.

She landed in the far back, stretched her arms and rubbed her eye. Completely in control, not a single problem in sight.

“Peasant-Knight Catria”, Clair greeted her out of nowhere, and Catria nearly fell out of the saddle.

“Clair—?” She composed herself, cleared her throat. “Why are you not at the front?”

“Lady Celica assured me there would be no trouble”, Clair said proudly. “And I must say I am curious; did my region strike your fancy from above? Did you see the beauty of the Remi River as it spirals through the forests? Did you notice the hills make the shape of a bear?”

“Wow, yeah, I did, actually”, Catria chuckled nervously. “You sure know this region, huh?”

So much for avoiding Clair. She’d lasted for five whole _seconds_. Well, so far her heart hadn’t done any weird swirls – maybe this time, she could keep it under control. She _could_ just have a chat, right?

Clair preened at the praise. “It’s a noble’s duty to know one’s land perfectly!”

“Oh”, Catria said and cleared her throat again. “Well, plenty of people know their homes, Clair.”

“I believe they don’t know it _quite _as well, do they?” Clair’s lips tugged downward, but she kept her gaze set on Catria. “Do they? I am not very familiar, to be honest. I once spoke to a kitchen maid and she’d forgotten the names of the rivers in our region!”

“But I bet she knew how to cook and organize a kitchen. Don’t need to recite rivers for that.”

“Your change in tone is noted.” Clair put her hand on Catria’s arm. “Have I said something to offend you? Perish the thought!”

The touch was warm and gentle. Catria considered to not keep the conversation in this direction, but she couldn’t let such matters lie. She still remembered having to share a scrawny squirrel with her sisters for dinner, and watch Palla deny herself the nutrients in order for Est to stop making a fuss. All while knowing that other kids their age went to bed with full bellies. She couldn’t just ignore that part of her; she spoke for her younger self, and thus, for all others who might live the same life.

“You haven’t offended me”, Catria said politely. “I am merely stating that it isn’t that special to be a noble, when all is said and done.”

Clair removed her hand to stabilize the reins, but her attention was no less on Catria.

“There are a number of duties that only makes sense one of high society and special training should perform, aren’t there?” Clair frowned, as if listening to her own words, then shook her head. “Imagine the stress put on a poor farmer if they were asked to appropriate the taxes needed to cover the costs of fortress repairs!”

These were conversations that usually really ticked Catria off, but there was nothing malignant in Clair’s tone. Catria didn’t snap, she simply kept talking with a shrug.

“I’ve met plenty of clever farmers, just sayin’. Given the right training, I’m sure they could manage.”

“Yes, of course”, Clair said and straightened her head. “I meant no offense. Honestly! The work of farmers and commoners are of true value, I think they— Their technique with the rake and the shovel is unparalleled!”

Catria couldn’t help throwing her head back with a laugh.

Clair blushed indignantly. “I—Hear now, Peasant-Knight Catria, I do _not _take lightly of being made mockery of—“

“Course not”, Catria said with a crooked smile. “Sorry, I guess it’s hard to relate when you’re worlds apart. But you’re trying, and it’s real nice of you.”

Clair still blushed, and watched her with slightly narrow eyes. “I take your words to heart”, she said.

“I’m sorry if I’m harsh”, Catria said reassuringly. “See, every noble I’ve met so far has been a complete pain in the neck, so that’s coloring my opinion quite a lot. Gods, they’re absolutely unbearable. Well, not Commander, of course, and she’s noble born. And not the princess Maria, obviously. Or princess Caeda—”

It felt wrong to speak of _her _here, for some reason. It made her heart feel weird, like she was betraying her for just mentioning her name to Clair.

“You’re on first name basis with princesses?” Clair gaped. “Well, _Archanean_ princesses, but still!”

“That’s rude, Clair. Again; we’re not barbarians.”

“No”, Clair said, blushing even more intensely. “But you are the only Archanean I can claim to know in any sense of the word, and you are... very brusque! But in a—in a pretty way, I suppose.”

Catria arched a brow at her, and thankfully her heart didn’t implode. “You think I’m pretty?”

Clair let out a quiet tut. “My thoughts were with your manners, Peasant-Knight Catria. There is no question about your outwardly charm, rest so assured.”

“Oh yeah?” Catria chuckled. “So you _do _think I’m pretty.”

“It is unseemly to fish for compliments”, Clair frowned and pulled her hair behind her shoulders with one graceful movement of her arm. “See, that is exactly what I referred to when I called you brusque.”

A gust of wind sprayed droplets from the crashing waves and onto Catria’s bare wrists. It chilled her, but she didn’t let that show – because damn it all, Clair didn’t seem bothered in the least. The water hovered around her like diamonds, dotted her fine woolen cloak like dew.

Considering their conversation topic, that would’ve be the perfect time for her to tell Clair that she looked absolutely mind-numbingly radiant; because she did. Sure as sunrise. There was no escaping it, just as there was no escaping the embers ignited in the center of Catria’s chest.

Catria choked her words down. She didn’t dare to speak them, and after a few heartbeats, Clair smiled at her again.

“There’s still an hour or so until we reach my abode”, she said and lifted her chin. “If you so wish it, can you tell me more about your home and your culture? Whenever I meet an Archanean in the future, I wish to not be as rudely ignorant as I have been with you.”

In hindsight, Catria couldn’t understand why Clair would ever want such a thing – if anyone had been rude, it’d been Catria. Fighting a war beside Doluna had taken that kind of softness out of her; only survivors got through it, not the silver-spoken ones. But for whatever unexplainable reason, Clair wished to speak to her _more_, and Catria would be a fool to deny it.

“It’d be my pleasure”, she answered with a smile.

\---

Once again, night settled over them. The days passed so quickly in Valentia, running away from them like sand on a slope, impossible to stop. Then came the nights, and those dragged on forever. It was as though time itself taunted them.

Every second was one more Est spent separated from them. Why couldn’t the sun stay out for longer, for their sake?

At least this time they wouldn’t have to sleep out on the ground.

“Welcome to the Goldrain family mansion”, Clair announced as she dismounted. “Beligrand! Beligrand, it is I, Clair!”

Catria glanced around. This place was pretty run down compared to Zofia’s castle, but she could tell it had been just as fancy (except much smaller). The stables were empty, the gates didn’t match up because one of the hinges had fallen off, and the windowsills _really _needed new paint.

Those details aside, the ground looked like it had been trampled by a dozen feet, and just recently.

She dismounted and touched the earth, rinsed it through her fingers. Considering its texture, it had rained here in the last week, so the tracks had to be pretty new.

Her neck prickled. This was not right.

“Beligrand”, Clair shouted again, and she pushed a door open to the mansion. Catria could hear her gasp all the way out to the yard, and being the closest, she quick to follow her inside.

It certainly didn’t look like a noble house in there. Just simple tables and chairs, desks without decorations, and dirt assembled in the corners.

“What is the meaning of this”, Clair whispered. “Have we... been raided?”

Catria wasn’t sure what to do to comfort anyone who’d just been robbed, but she put an uncertain hand on Clair’s shoulder, and Clair didn’t shove it off.

“Clair?” The voice belonged to an old man, one who tiptoed out from the shadows.

“Oh, Beligrand!” Clair spun around and leaped out of Catria’s hold on her shoulder.

The man jolted backwards, but could not escape Clair’s embrace.

“Beligrand”, Clair repeated with a relieved sigh. “I am so glad to see you healthy!”

“My hip still troubles me”, was Beligrand’s answer to that, but he patted Clair on the back with a truly caring gesture. “Calling me _healthy _is a bit of a stretch, but never mind that. What a blessing from the Mother, to see you safe. I worried so that the civil war would claim you, dear child.”

“Nonsense, Beligrand! You forget to whom you are speaking!” Clair chuckled quietly, then straightened and put her hands on his shoulders. “Now, tell me, what happened to our noble home while I was away?”

Beligrand crossed his arms with a grunt. “Pirates. Bandits. All the same – they know many of you knights are out fighting in the war, so they raid your homes while your backs are turned. Filthy bastards, they are. I took all the valuables we had and hid them where no one could ever find them, and they tried to make me talk, but a few fists hardly is the way to make a civilized man speak!”

“Nonsense, Beligrand”, Clair repeated, but softer this time. “Your life is more precious than our art and gold.”

“Dear child”, Beligrand chuckled. “They took something far more valuable than that; our pantry. I tried to see where they took off to – I’ve done my fair share of sneaking about in my lifetime, and stealing from a few pirates shouldn’t prove a problem – but they’ve disappeared like ghosts.”

“They seemed traceable to me”, Catria blurted, and Clair’s head whipped around, only then reminded that they had company. Catria cleared her throat awkwardly, her accent slipping out with her unable to stop it. “I grew up a huntress, yeah? Y’all should know I’ve done my fair share of trackin’ bandits in my youth, too. These fellas weren’t careful, y’know? There’re tracks all over the yard, I could see that even in the dark.”

“Who are these fine people you bring, Clair?” Beligrand watched Catria with a piercing gaze. “Friends of yours?”

“They’re with the lady priestess Celica”, Clair answered and put a hand on Catria’s arm. “This is Catria, one of the finest knights in Macedon – which is a kingdom in Archanea!”

Catria felt a warm twinge in her chest. Clair had really tried to learn everything about Archanea (and misunderstood half of it), and the sheer energy behind her words was a joy to witness.

“This is Beligrand”, Clair introduced the old man (a little bit late, but better than never, Catria supposed). “Our manservant. He’s served the Goldrain family for many years. Now, Beligrand, I lead my friends here to share our provisions, but I suppose that is not possible?”

“I know how to hide food as well, Lady Clair”, Beligrand said and lifted his chin. “There is indeed a piece of it to spare, and roof over your heads. I couldn’t be happier to provide your friends – especially when they can track down the filthy Grieth-praising bandits who broke my cane over my back.”

“Grieth”, Catria repeated. “He’s here? I thought his fortress was much further east?”

“He’s got people everywhere”, Beligrand scoffed. “They’re slippery, dangerous, and deserving of a sword through the chest, if you ask me. The band that passed by here can’t have their base that far away – but they’re all but disappeared. There are some good hiding spots beyond the mountains, that’s for sure.”

Catria’s vision compressed into a tunnel shape, her heart cold, her shoulders relaxed and arms tensed up, ready to throw javelins across the entire damn continent, if that was what it took.

“I’ll find them”, Catria said, and she didn’t recognize her voice. Maybe it wasn’t just Palla, Maybe she too took after Commander and got terrifying sometimes.

But this was a lead. Their first real encounter with pirates that was fresh enough to follow. And that meant they were one step closer to finding Est.

Her throat felt tight. Her fingers twitching. “I’ll find them”, she repeated. “And I’ll nail their corpses to the ground.”

The tunnel of her vision got almost entirely filled by Clair’s face, as she leaned into her vision.

“I have no doubt that you will”, Clair said. “But _tomorrow_. Tomorrow, Peasant-Knight Catria. Tonight, please rest.”

Catria didn’t rest.

Clair had shown her a room with clean (albeit dusty) sheets and made sure that Catria put her luggage down on the floor, then shown where she could find a comb and bathwater, with a mindful eye on Catria’s face at all times. Like she expected Catria to simply leap out the window the next chance she got.

Well, she wasn’t wrong. Catria waited for her to leave, then she snuck outside and knelt on the ground.

She measured the direction and discretion of the tracks she’d found. Her heartbeat eased into the simplicity of the hunt, merged with the stress from everything she couldn’t control.

She couldn’t trust that it didn’t rain or that the wind didn’t gain speed during the night. What if she woke up to every trace of the pirates erased? No, she had to do this now, and not later.

Clair had looked at her as though she’d thought Catria would hunt them down all the way into their lair on her own, but she had enough self-control not to.

She followed them as far as she could in the darkness, which wasn’t far, but far enough to give her a taste. They were close, now. So close.

She just had to cross those mountains (and they were _actual _mountains, not tiny hills) to the east, and then they’d be in a different part of Zofia, one with plains and desert. One with that currently housed pirates, but wouldn’t once Catria was done.

Three roads winded up the mountains, and now she knew which one they’d have to follow in the morning.

She hung her headband on a branch to mark the spot. Then she went back inside and spent an embarrassingly long time finding her way back to her room. Funny how a nicked twig or a spray of dust could guide her instincts, but not empty hallways with differently carved doors.

It wasn’t until she remembered how Clair had pointed out a crude horse carving beneath the handle and told her Clive had tried to be an artist when he was eleven years old that Catria remembered which door was hers. The story about Clive was kind of standard (Catria could not count how much poor wooden furniture had been victim to Est’s artistic ideas back when she’d been a kid); what she’d remembered was specifically how the edges of Clair’s eyes were drawn upward as she smiled about it.

Which was just ridiculous. She was deep in it, now, and once her heart was set, there was no escape for her.

She had more important things to worry about.

Yet, when morning came, she couldn’t resist riding up to Clair. They’d said their ‘_good mornings’_ and ‘_thank you for your hospitality’_s, but surrounded by the buzz of Celica’s squad moving out those were shallow. Catria wanted to talk to her again, knowing it would probably be the last time in her life she saw her.

Clair sat readily in her saddle, her hair braided and thrown over one shoulder, so much pride in her stance and yet such gentleness in her smile.

“You’ve lost your headband”, Clair nodded at her, eyes curious and shining.

“Eh, I’m sure I’ll find it”, Catria smiled back.

“Your face looks different without it.”

“My eyebrows were sacrificed to the gods, yeah. Can I trick you into thinking it’s an Archanean ritual?”

Clair laughed, and didn’t cover her face with her hand while doing so.

There were many things Catria wanted right then, and one of them was that Clair wouldn’t leave. It was such a strong wish, it cut into her tenseness, disrupted even her pull toward the waiting mountains.

“Are you sure you cannot go with us?”

Clair straightened her reins, her smile turning somber. “Alas”, she answered. “You must forgive me, but I could not in good consciousness leave my brother’s wife like that. She’s leading a whole platoon of Deliverance soldiers on her own up in the northwest, you see. I have no doubts she can stand her ground, but she _dearly _needs reinforcements. I simply must go. But fret not, Peasant-Knight Catria. You make sure to beat these pirates and survive, and we will continue our highly engaging conversations over tea.”

“Sure thing”, Catria said. “Uh, unless—what’s tea?”

Clair smiled wider at her. “I suppose that will be a surprise, my darling Archanean.” She raised her hand to the sky, and bowed toward Celica. “Now, fare thee well, soldiers of Mila! May all the Mother’s fortune be with you!”

She was fast. One moment she’d been on the ground, the next she’d taken to the skies. Like a streak of gold, Clair vanished into the clouds. And the small part of Catria that had started to feel at home vanished with her.


	15. Edge

Walls. Palla barely knew them, anymore.

What had been a constant pressure just a few months ago was now brief as heartbeats. Pieces of her old life returned to her, living behind thin tent fabrics or beneath an open sky. The climate may be different in Valentia, warmer and dryer – but the feel of familiarity as she rested beneath the green ceiling of a tree was the same as everywhere else.

Her dreams weren’t. The voids of terror she’d come to know throughout the war had in the years of peace slowly become empty. Now they were once again curdling her blood into ice.

The recurring theme was always her being a spectator; a helpless, voiceless spectre that didn’t move, even when there was a metal door in front of her. Even when she could hear her sister’s sobs through the bars, she didn’t move to open it.

Walls. Est never was too good with those, either. Pulled to the endless sky, just like her sisters.

Maybe that was why hope remained, why Palla insisted they still scout the perimeter and villages for any sign of Est; pirates may have taken her over to this side of the world, but with a spirit like hers she might have broken free out of sheer will alone. A desperate hope, but it remained strong nonetheless. She had to leave her mind open to possibilities, and if they had to face bandit axes and pirate swords and barred doors, so be it. When Est had left her during the war Palla’s heart had split and there had barely been a moment when she wasn’t supressing that she was beside herself with worry.

Things were different, now. Palla wouldn’t lose composure this time. She’d bring Est home, alive and well. Three sisters walking down the Macedonian docking bay, three sisters swarming Iote’s heir. Just as it always had been.

She did not allow herself to consider any other alternative.

All things considered, she was doing everything she could. They’d come far in just two months. They had safety in numbers, and a traceable pirate coven. A third pegasus knight joining them had been a welcome addition, but barely before Palla had the time to exchange a word with Clair, she’d disappeared.

Perhaps she’d not had the time to speak to Clair because she’d pulled to Catria like a magnet, and vice versa. Palla had even heard Catria laugh. Which was strange. Catria had ever only hissed in frustration or spoken tonelessly until then. And somewhere within Palla’s aching, fearful heart, there was still room to feel relieved for her sister’s sake. There was always room for both of them, no matter the pain inside her.

Without Clair, though, Catria had retracted back to the stoic determination from before. She walked dismounted, without holding Mara’s reins – the pegasus followed her dutifully anyway – and crouched beneath bushes and touched the bent grass.

They were still on a quite clearly defined road taking them through the mountain range. There weren’t many places a hidden path could branch off to, but Catria kept overturning every rock and tracing her hand over the mountain wall. The pirate coven that had raided Clair’s abode would not go undiscovered with Catria tracking them down. There was yet room inside Palla’s mind to feel proud of her sister.

Which she hadn’t been able to show or express enough, unfortunately. Since their arrival in Valentia Palla had found it hard to speak at all. Her throat was tense as a bowstring, a lump in her chest with constant pressure on her lungs. Exchanging pleasantries and politeness was second nature to her, but she could go no further.

She was a soldier here. Nothing less, nothing more. There was a simplicity in that, one she’d yearned for longer than she’d dare to admit. Like a rusted sword finding its sheen anew, she let the sun fall on her face and the many thoughts in her head ebb out into nothing. In the stillness of a clear-cut purpose, there was little room for thoughts of the Macedonan court. A relief beyond relief.

Palla had thought she’d journeyed through the whole world during the war. She’d thought she’d be content in settling down and giving up all her power.

She’d denied Minerva’s offers to appoint her to a noble position. She’d rebuked the offer to become a high-ranking general, or a master or an advisor. She’d been too afraid of a position where her tasks would take her away from the one she loved, too afraid of the unfamiliar. She’d been a lifeguard once, she could be one again.

But guarding a princess was different from guarding a queen.

She had to remind herself that her isolation was a choice, and that her suffering was nothing in comparison to Minerva’s. Minerva was at the center of a harrowing spiral, constantly, _constantly_— Palla was just a bystander, looking into eyes so dreadfully empty, devoid even of tears.

Palla would tell her not to give up, but in the deepest, darkest piece of her heart, she actually hoped Minerva would break. Run. Start over somewhere else, where the world didn’t slowly tear their bond apart.

She’d thought she’d be content, but the court was far more harrowing than she’d ever imagined. And yes, Palla’s isolation had been a choice, but her heart had ached no less because of it.

Palla bit her lip, watched the path crafted through the steep cliffs. She had to keep her wits about her and not let herself delve into thoughts best left alone. Celica’s followers may be kind, but Palla couldn’t let her guard down around anyone. She shouldn’t trust anyone completely in such unfamiliar lands.

“Madam Palla?”

Palla raised her brows. She usually tried to avoid small talk during the Valentian marches, but she could make exceptions.

“Genny?” Palla looked down to the side of her, where a flash of pink almost hid entirely behind her steed’s wings. “Did you say something?”

“Um, well...” The flash of pink disappeared, then reappeared in the shape of a half-terrified young girl, jogging to keep up with her.

Genny was sixteen, and the youngest of Celica’s friends. She’d been difficult to notice at first, with her face and shoulders hiding beneath wool-like curls, and a regular backpack enough to outsize her. Palla had more than once wondered why someone so frail had left her island home and followed Celica out into the world; Genny was always at the rear lines of their little travel company, with her allergies and low endurance causing her to walk slower than the rest. When Palla had found her bandaging her feet with tears in her eyes, she could not stop herself from asking why she was there, and Genny had looked upon her with a sniffle and a simple ‘_I didn’t want to get left behind_’.

Palla’s caring instincts reacted faster than her conscious mind. She’d offered Genny a place in her saddle within a heartbeat, but Genny had immediately declined and ran to hide.

In the two months that had passed, she’d evidently had the time to adjust to Palla’s presence. Genny had warmed up to her enough to dare look her in the eye, but she still declined the offer to ride, mumbling something about animals being scary and untrustworthy.

Now though, the pegasus didn’t visibly bother Genny. Although something that clearly _did_ bother her was forcing herself into a quicker step than usual.

“I just... wanted to know…” She wheezed as she jogged. “What’s your sister’s like?”

Palla slowed down slightly, her eyes darting to the empty skies. “I assume you do not speak of Catria.”

“No”, Genny exhaled, seemingly grateful for the slower pace. “The one you’re searching for, I mean?”

Palla didn’t smile, and her pause was much too long.

Genny hugged the straps of her backpack tighter. “I’m sorry! It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about her, I just—uhm—“

It was possible that Genny simply wanted to make conversation after many long hours of travel, but Palla couldn't shake the feeling that she might have to keep her guard up, even around Genny. Had the girl heard Palla’s tears in the dead of night, when the cold, helpless dreams overpowered her? Palla had tried so hard to be quiet; something she was an uncrowned master of, given that she’d never wanted Minerva to awaken and witness her at her weakest.

“Celica and Mae and Boey are kind of like my family”, Genny went on to explain. “And I just know that—uhm, if they were to disappear, I’d be really sad, too. Not to say that _you’re _sad, I just—”

Palla shook her head, and now a weak smile appeared on her lips. “I _am_ sad”, she agreed. “Thank you for your concern, Genny. However, I also know that I’m doing all I can, and that Est is, too.”

Those were fine words, and they worked to bring some comfort from being spoken aloud. She grew a little bit more convinced that Est _was_ fine. She would have headbutted pirates left and right, she would have ran for the woods any chance she got. The odds were just as high that she was wandering the lands and eating wildberries compared to the odds of her being held in some sort of pirate fortress.

“Est is very strong”, Palla went on, looking out over the landscape beneath the perilous road along the mountainside that they trod on. “Back during the Archanean war, we could joke about me being the most skilled, Catria being the fastest and Est being the strongest. But really, that was just us fooling around a little. It’s not like Est could punch through a wall of stone, but she had this... drive. She stayed optimistic no matter what hardship we faced. She’d falter too, sometimes, but we could almost always trust her to bring joy to everyone. Even when darkness covered us from all sides.”

Without thinking, she kept searching the skies. As if Est would just appear out of nowhere and finally put Palla’s heart to rest.

“She sounds great”, Genny nodded. “I looked at the sketches of the posters the Deliverance would bring with them… They said she had pink hair. Like mine?“

Palla smiled wider, looking down on Genny’s misty pink curls. “Almost, but it’s brighter. That’s why our mother named her after the eastern-most mountain in our home kingdom, because it’s first to meet the dawn.”

Genny’s eyes widened and her lips broke into a smile, and she curled into herself as if unconsciously trying to hide her face. “That’s so pretty!”

“Do you know if Genny has a meaning?”

Palla had been lowering her guard, softened into the lull of a simple conversation. She knew so little about Genny’s past, but enough to realize that such a question was a mistake. Genny’s expression froze, and she hurried to look down at her feet. She curled together even further, pulled at the fringes at her sleeves and shrugged.

“Maybe ‘_worthless_’”, she mumbled, something Palla probably wasn’t meant to hear.

Palla wasn’t sure where to go further, so she stayed quiet, watched Catria instead. As usual at the front with eyes on the walls and ground, but now and again she looked down over the edge, a deep frown on her face.

Something was indeed odd enough to be frowning about. The path had thinned considerably where Catria walked, and once Mae and Boey ventured after her they had to fall into a wobbly formation on nothing more than a few indentations in the mountain wall. There was still enough room to walk in a line, so Genny quietly fell back behind Palla. Saber had stopped frowning like the old, rugged mercenary he was, and instead held Celica’s hand like a worried father, and Valbar sidled with his back to the wall, careful not to look down.

Catria seemed unbothered. Apart from her thoughtful frowns, her footing was absolutely certain. There was not a pebble out of place as she scanned the path ahead. So much could not be said about Palla – rocks shifted beneath Avil's hooves, and she was tempted to take off into flight. Heights was second nature to her, but even she felt vulnerable on such a bottleneck where just one careless step would send them plummeting into the steep valley below.

This path differed from what they’d passed through for the previous mountain roads, like passing through a door to another world. No trees or greenery grew below. Just an empty wall of gravel and cliffs, as if scraped clean.

Something was off about it. Palla glanced over her shoulder and back to the front, a hand on her sword’s hilt. Catria had slowed down in the front, and once again looked down over the edge. Something must have caught her eye, because her neck sprang up and she stared further up the mountain.

Palla mirrored her, and for a brief moment, her heart stopped. She saw the shape of _people_ up there, pulling two great wooden contraptions apart.

“Oh gods—” Catria blurted. “_Run_!”

Barely a moment had passed before Catria cried out in alarm, and afterward, Palla heard nothing at all. The rumble of a man-made rockslide drowned out all conscious thought from her mind.

Catria mounted her pegasus within a heartbeat, and in the same motion, she grabbed the two people closest to her – Mae and Boey – and took to the sky, clutching them by the rim of their clothes. Celica hurdled Saber in front of herself, and Valbar looked ready to brace his two companions beneath his armor.

Palla wasn’t afraid for herself. She lacked that fear, always had. The dust of boulders was close enough for her to smell it, and yet she grabbed Genny by the backpack and hoisted her up in her arms. Avil flapped his wings desperately with the uneven weight, but he managed to get airborne, and in the nick of time, too.

The rockslide passed beneath her like a waterfall. It demolished parts of the path completely, and through some miracle, Valbar was still standing when the boulders had passed him by. The ones he’d protected, Leon and Kamui, were straining to support him and get him out of harm’s way.

Palla looked up in time to see the small group of people that had activated the trap hurry back down on the other side of the mountain. Bandits, Palla realized. Could they be Grieth’s men?

If Palla hadn’t been carrying that extra weight, she’d have followed them. But right then she trusted in her sister’s tracking ability more than she trusted herself to be able to take on a dozen foes on her own. Before she did anything reckless, she had to make sure they were all ready for battle.

And Genny clearly wasn’t. The girl was deathly pale and slack as a rug. Palla had to clutch her arms around her to keep her from falling.

“Genny!” Palla called. “Genny, are you all right? I’ve got you! You’re safe—“

She tried to get a better look at the girl’s face. Her mind betrayed her, placed the instinct that the one she clutched was her own littlest sister. The one she’d failed, over and over again—

Palla had many weaknesses, but distraction usually wasn’t one of them. Or it hadn’t been for as long as she’d served, but then again, Minerva had always been there to keep her thoughts straight. Her orders always crystal clear. Now there was no one to signal at her, no one she believed in so deeply she could push her fear away.

_Get out of enemy range_, the memory of Minerva called to her. Barely conscious of the decision herself, Palla steered further out, so she hovered just above the treetops at the mountain base. It bought her time to calm down, to look at Genny properly.

The girl only stared ahead, but she blinked, so she had to be alive. And she wasn’t injured, as far as Palla could tell.

She recognized the look in Genny’s eye with heartbreaking clarity. They called it Junior’s Shock back home at the Macedon Knight Academy – that despite preparations, some juniors went into a complete petrified state at near-death-experiences. Disconnected from themselves as a way of defense.

“You’re safe”, Palla repeated, again and again. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

She craned her neck to look over the ruined mountain path above her. Celica hovered over Saber with healing magic, who tried to push her away. Leon carefully removed Valbar’s gauntlet, while Kamui yelled something insulting, no doubt about that, toward the top of the mountain. Catria circled above them, her eyes turned to Palla.

_Get up here_, Catria signed at her, with Boey thrown over her lap to get her hand free.

Palla felt no need to answer. She glanced one final time toward the mountaintop, but there was no movement there anymore. Whoever they were, they weren’t waiting getting swords through their necks. She sailed up toward the rest of the group, huddled together on the part of the mountain path with normal width.

“Genny!” Celica, Mae and Boey cried in a chorus when Palla got closer. Though barely standing upright themselves, they surrounded the spot where Palla sailed down to land. There was no doubt they cared about Genny, but maybe a bit too much at the moment.

“Don’t crowd her, please!” Palla said, prying off Genny’s backpack from her slack arms. “Get us a blanket!”

Genny’s backpack thudded down on the ground, and Palla dismounted, still with the girl in her arms. Mae fetched her a blanket, and she wrapped Genny in it.

“Sit down, Genny”, Palla said, and tipped her out of her arms without letting go. She put her right arm as support for her back. She knew using names could make even people in emotional shock respond somewhat, even though they themselves didn’t speak or think.

“_Damn _it”, Catria yelled and thwacked her javelin onto a dry bush, splintering the weak twigs. “They nearly squashed us! We’d be dead without even a fighting chance, the crafty sleazy _bastards_—”

“Catria”, Palla said sternly. “Tone it down.”

Catria’s eyes burned. Her jaw twitched when she clenched it, but she stopped yelling and took a long look at Genny.

“Right”, she muttered. “Junior’s Shock, huh? …Sorry.”

“Will she be okay?” Mae crouched down in front of them. There was that word, ‘_okay_’, again. Palla understood its meaning, but it was strange nonetheless.

“It might take a while to snap out of”, Palla answered. “But she’s not hurt. Has this happened before?”

“No, this girl faced a Necrodragon and didn’t budge!” Kamui said. “I couldn’t say that much for myself.”

Palla stroked the girl’s back. “Fear doesn’t make much sense.”

Celica crouched down too, and took Genny’s hand through the blanket. “What matters is that we’re all alive. Although it was far too close for comfort.”

“I’m sorry Celica”, Boey said and cringed. “I should have realized – the signs were all there. The path was so thin there compared to everywhere else, what else could have caused it but dozens upon dozens of rockslides? Ugh, why didn’t I _think_—”

Mae interrupted him with a loose punch on the knee, and then she stood up to give him a full hug. “You idiot”, she mumbled, her voice thick. “You think too _much_.”

“This bandit bunch are a darn headache”, Saber grunted, wiping his brow free from dust. “Huntin’ ‘em started off as just a job, but these pricks have gone an’ made it _personal_. Their hideout’s clearly nearby, I say we go get ‘em while they think we’re weak!”

“This man has the right thinking”, Catria fumed and pointed at Saber. “If we stay here they’ll just come back with a full force!”

Celica sighed and stroked Genny’s hand. “Hey, Genny, can you stand up?”

There was no response, but Genny did as she was told with mechanical movements. Palla watched her carefully; she didn’t fall. Nothing wrong with her balance, evidently. Still, she barely recognized this girl compared to the Genny that had only minutes before braved her bad constitution just to have a chat.

She swayed, and Palla gently placed her hands on her shoulders.

“Genny?” she asked.

As if opening the gates to a dam, Genny burst into tears. Unstoppable sobs intertwined with laughter, releasing fear and relief and a lot of other emotions that made no sense. Palla had seen this so, so many times before.

She hushed her, gently stroked her shoulders before carefully moving in to embrace her. Genny didn’t lift her arms to embrace her back but she angled her head so that she could sob into Palla’s shoulder.

“It’s okay”, Palla said, hoping she used the word right. “It’s okay...”

She glanced toward Catria, who met her gaze filled wordless questions that Palla didn’t know the answer to. But Palla wouldn’t admit her cluelessness. She stared back with determination.

_They won’t come this close again_, she tried to say. _We’ll go after them. We’ll crush them._

\---

By nightfall they’d barely reached the top of the mountain. They should’ve been able to have gone further, but with Genny barely able to walk without support, there was no hope of reaching the bandits before the moon took its place in the sky.

They’d found an almost homely indentation in the rocky wall, where Valbar now struggled to attach a tent.

Est could be just three trees over, and yet Palla sat down and stared into the darkness until sleep took her. She couldn’t let herself be tempted. She had to stay with the group. There was safety in numbers, safety in numbers—

Catria jolted her awake. The light of dawn had barely begun to shine over the distant seas, but it was enough for Palla to recognize the face that hissed at her.

“Come on”, Catria said. “I’m not just lying around, anymore. We’re scouting ahead.”

“But you’re taking this guard shift”, Palla blinked at her. “We’ll be vulnerable, and we’ll leave _them_ vulnerable too.”

“We won’t go far”, Catria shrugged. “Besides, I’ve scouted ahead at night before. At Clair’s place.”

“_What_?”

“Easy, it went fine!” She lowered her voice and pointed in the direction of steep, perilous cliffs. “Now, with a kid with junior’s shock at our tail it’ll take us _days _to reach these trap-laying bastards – I’m not waiting around for that. Do you want to find Est or not?”

Palla glanced down on their group. Genny had curled herself into a ball beneath the blankets, and Mae mumbled restlessly. Palla had been ready to leave them for weeks on end, and the sensation that she didn’t want to do so now was a strange one. This was where they were safe, this is where she could keep a calm and steady search without her other sister getting in danger. Leaving would be a gamble, and she hated those.

But that sister would leave whether Palla stayed or not.

“You stay behind me”, Palla ordered and strapped her sword to her hip. “And we take the pegasi. If you fall down a chasm because of this, I swear—”

“I said it went _fine_ last time”, Catria hissed, but she didn’t protest.

How Catria could even pretend to see anything at all of the paths below them, Palla couldn’t fathom. Hovering in the skies as dawn drew closer, dim light surrounded her from all sides. Although to Catria’s credit, a nighttime flight had been the right idea. Whoever their foes were, they needed a fire just like everyone else, and it was visible just three cliffs over. It would take long on foot, but flying was a different story.

_I go down_, Catria signalled. Palla frowned and tried her best to sign a ‘_no!_’ at her. There were a lot of other things she could have said, but air signals weren’t meant for deep conversation.

A soft wind rustled the branches below them. With the rising sun, the shape of tents took form by a stream. Well-hidden and well-defended. They’d be foolish to try to attack them, not knowing what to expect. They should turn back, get their friends and ambush them. Now that they had a better idea of the road ahead, they could—

A brown tangle shot through the sky from below. It moved too fast for Palla to understand what it was exactly, but all her sky-knight-senses let out a collective scream. _Projectile._

It hit into Mara’s wing. Like a ball of string unleashed, the projectile tangled into the pegasus’ front legs and left wing. Catria let out a shout, and lost altitude quickly.

Another projectile swished from below. Aimed at Palla.

She’d been ready for it, and darted to the side. Under normal circumstances, she’d swiftly fly away from the battle. The essence of a scouting mission was to not get involved in fighting – it was to stay alive for long enough to deliver the message, to get help. The instinct of a soldier told her that would be the correct thing to do, but she stayed, circled over the little clearing. She watched in horror as Catria crashed through the branches and into the mountain wall. She didn’t slam into it at full speed, but enough to have her head knocked back.

Palla wouldn’t leave her. The instinct of a soldier could burn for all she cared. She wouldn’t leave another sister to these ruffians, not when she was here to defend her.

Her mind subconsciously collected what she saw moving in the clearing below. Fifteen men. Two archers. Mostly axes. Catria, who hurled a javelin into the shoulder of a shieldless foe as she wobbled toward the ground.

And in the center was a wooden sling, operated by three people. Catria had called these people _‘crafty_’ and that seemed to be true. They had resources common bandits wouldn’t. The sling was unlike anything Palla had seen before. Like a ballista, but for _nets_. Arrows Palla understood, but this…

Using nets to take them down must’ve meant the bandits wanted them alive. So as Palla plunged down into their midst, she might have an advantage.

She sliced at a bandit in the rear of the circle surrounding Catria and attempted to return to higher ground for a new strike from above, but a net cut her plans short. It put Avil completely out of balance, and Palla would soon join Catria in her crash landing.

Palla made her choice. Leaving the saddle was her best option. It would give Avil a chance, and Palla was hardly new to ground battles. She’d make them regret taking up arms against Catria.

She aimed for the center of the circle, leaving Avil to fend for himself in the sky. Without her weight, he managed to stay afloat, and with her whistle, he darted off, away over the cliffs.

_Good boy_, she thought to herself. Her back turned to Catria, she extended her sword in a battle-ready stance. Behind her Catria coughed and frizzled and cursed; her face bled from _somewhere_, but that evidently didn’t stop her from flinging another javelin at their attackers. It _did _stop her from hitting her mark, though.

Fourteen of their enemies were still standing. Palla squinted, radiating a complete calm. How many could she take with her?

With Minerva at her side, all of them. No doubt about it. On her own... Palla wasn't so sure.

“Are you Grieth’s men?” she shouted at the one in the front, hoping to buy herself more time to asses them.

They were evidently interested in a play for time as well, preparing another net in their contraption. She’d have to take them down before that was ready—

A javelin thumped into the head of one of the net handlers. Catria'd had the same idea, and in different circumstances, Palla would’ve smiled.

The bandit in front sighed and put his axe on his shoulder, adjusting a bright red scarf around his neck.

“The more you’re fightin’, the more we gotta hurt you”, he reasoned.

“Only ones that’s gonna be hurtin’ is you all”, Catria frizzled. “Flinging rocks and shooting nets, a bunch of bastards you are—"

“Soldiers get the rock trap”, the one in the front explained with a cold smile. “It’s in our best interest to not have any knights pokin’ around our business in the east, and rocks are a far less risky way of killin’. Now _merchants_… They get to pass. They still die, sure… but we kill ‘em later, after they’ve carried their stuff a bit closer to us.”

The bandits could overrun them, but they kept waiting. The one speaking seemed to be in charge, and they awaited his order. Palla made sure she signaled just how much pain such an order would bring him, and she must have succeeded. She kept her eye on the ones operating the net sling. She had to be ready, if he just moved a slight bit to the right to relax his guard she could destroy the sling and be done with it.

“I’ll repeat my question”, Palla said coldly. “Are you Greith’s men?”

“There’re not exactly any other options in these parts”, the bandit in front said with a grin. “All hail the Pirate King.”

Palla narrowed her eyes. Another bandit had stepped forth and blocked her planned path, but if she waited for an opening, she could—

“You talk funny”, the bandit said with cold calm. “Like Archaneans. I got to hear a lotta that overseas, you see. Well, most begged for their life, but I still think I got the dialect down… I’ll admit I was more interested in your pegasi at first, but now, be so kind and surrender peacefully. Archaneans are a rarity, and with you, boss would get a matching set. He loves those. No fighting, now. He hates it when his collections are damaged.”

Their time was out. Palla couldn’t wait for the perfect moment that might never come – she went on the offensive. Her aim was for the leader, but in a flowing feint, she cut into the arm of the one standing next to him. She kept that momentum, switched direction and thrusted into the closest neck she could see. Her focus was on practiced targets, her skill the one thing she could rely on.

She needed to reach the sling, she was so close—

The net hurt. It whipped into her face, pressing the flat side of her sword against her chest. The threads dug into her skin and flung her into the arms of a bored-looking bandit. This was routine to them, she realized, and her hatred burned like fire.

She stuck her hunting knife into his belly. She might not be able to use her sword, but she couldn’t let that stop her. She could barely move, yet she tackled right into another bandit trying to get hold of her. The battle cry from Catria made her stop thinking of her restrictions.

She was bigger than every single one here, and she could use that. After all, Minerva used her full weight in everything she did. An elbow into the teeth from her was a death sentence – and that was who Palla was to the Valentians. She acted without care, her body imitating what she’d seen so many times before. Minerva would slam her head into enemy faces, she’d scream until gods cowered, she’d tackle them like _so_, she’d shove her shoulder into their throats like _so_—

Palla was a ram splintering city gates. She had never fought in such a manner in the past, but it was no less _familiar_. Palla fell into a form and style she’d known from afar, no longer relying on elegance and skill. She’d kick and fight until she couldn’t. Which would be soon. She’d be a fool to believe she could _actually_ win this fight.

Thunder rumbled. She paid it no mind, not until lightning zapped down into the back of a bandit behind her. That was when she looked up, and all she was met by was blinding, brazen light.

Fire rained from the sky. Smoke and cinders billowed from the ground as flame after flame hit into the ground like the furious sticks on a drum.

Palla covered her face. The pulse of hot air came at her with the force of dragon’s roars, and yet she could still recognize the call of her Pegasus. The net clung to her, the weighted rocks at the ends clinking against her armored boots, but with the bandits distracted by the burns, she had the space to sit down against a tree and hurl the thing off her. Catria helped her pull with one arm, and with the other she picked an axe off the ground and lodged it into a man’s chin.

None of the bandits tried to run. Palla didn’t care why. Her left hand moved of its own accord; parrying, binding, and hurting what could be hurt. She’d come out of this alive.

The final bandit went down to a crack of lighting. Quick and precise, leaving the air frizzled with energy.

Palla looked up once again, her chest heaving, her sword at her side. The familiar shape of Avil sailing down on the ground in front of her, coupled with the unfamiliar sight of two riders on his back. One with lightning still crawling up her arms, one with flames still in her hand.

Palla lifted a hand to Avil's nuzzle in greeting, and he gave her a relieved snort in response. ‘_Good job_’, she wanted to say, but she never got that far before the lightning mage let out a cry.

“What in terror’s name are you guys _doing_?” Mae’s voice was shrill, and she clung to Celica’s waist. Even so, her hands shook. “I was sleeping just ten minutes ago, and then this crazed beast _kicked me _and we had to _fly _here! We could have fallen off and _died_. What is your _deal_, just going off on your own?”

Catria’s face was reddened with blood, but Palla was sure she flushed with shame beneath it. Although her voice was unaffected and deadpan, like she wasn’t heaving her chest in pain and fear.

“Thought we’d spare you people a hike.”

Palla closed her eyes. She always did this, always hid her emotions in one way or another.

“Not funny!” Mae continued yelling. “So not funny! I’m clearly very angry! The _only _reason we’re both here to pull your skins out of the fire is because Celica is just that _nice_, okay? Okay!”

“Please stop yelling at my sister”, Palla said, keeping her voice level as she dipped her head in a well-practiced bow. “I take full responsibility for this. It was my idea to leave. I believed the two of us could handle this without risking your lives as well.”

Catria drew for a sudden breath and clenched her fists. Now there was no doubt her face flushed red with anger and indignation. Palla felt ill at the sight. She only ever wanted to protect her sisters from discomfort, although Catria’s reaction to her protection usually wasn’t that of gratitude, but of resentment.

“You needn’t think that way”, Celica said, extinguishing the fire in her palm. “I understand that the threat from the rock-trap rattled us all, but we’re stronger together.”

“I agree”, Palla answered. “Thank you, priestess. I’m sorry for my mistake in judgement.”

Catria only nodded once, before she started to kick over the bandits so they lay face-up, and searched their pockets.

“Again, what’s your deal?” Mae frizzled and dismounted, glaring at Catria, but Celica put a hand on her shoulder.

“Mae, there’s no need to be angry”, she said. “They’re our friends, they’ve helped us, and we’re helping them in turn. We’re all alive, and there’s one less terror on these roads, now. Mila guided us all.”

Mae crossed her arms and sighed through her nose. “I guess.” She looked around on the bodies, and her face softened. “So, are these a part of the Grieth pirate crew, then? Or just some random bad dudes?”

“This guy bragged about murdering Archaneans”, Catria muttered and kicked one of the bandits, the one with a red scarf. “Yeah, they’re Grieth’s, all right.”

Mae grimaced. “Huh. They say anything else about your sister, then? This place seems pretty empty now that the bad guys are having a permanent lie-down.”

“He did insinuate something about a ‘_matched set_’ of Archaneans”, Palla said, the words tasting like bile. “But he could just be speaking of Catria and me, for all we know—”

“Palla.”

Catria’s voice was cold as ice. Her bloodied fingers fumbled at the dead bandit’s throat. She didn’t breathe as she pulled something gleaming from the man’s neck and lifted it up into the air. Her face twisted in pain as the rising sun glinted in the silver of Est’s matrimonial medallion.


	16. No Love Lost

When the capital of Macedon slept, its queen was still wide awake.

Restless energy had been Minerva’s fuel for many years, which worked well enough in her youth, but now it brought its own pains. Her shoulders were so tense one slight shift of her clothes felt like lightning stabbing into her skin, her head was always throbbing and her ears always ringing.

Her mind had been clearer than usual for the first few days after her visit to the secret cabin that housed Michalis. Her entire being had burned with hatred, her fears turned to ash. She’d felt so powerful, so full of purpose – but that same ash had found its way into new crevices, sprouted new doubts. She wasn’t sure what to do to rid herself of them. She’d returned to the cabin once or twice after her first visit, but Michalis had not been awake and none of her new doubts had stilled. All she’d accomplished was a sick feeling and bloody dreams that woke her up even earlier than usual.

In such early morning hours, Minerva didn’t know where to go or what to do; she was too tired to work but too tense to attempt rest. With nobody else to turn to, she relied on herself to endure until sunrise.

This particular morning Minerva had attempted to draft a letter to Maria, and considering how she’d flickered about in her room and written against walls and windows and floors and broken a quill in a nervous clench of her fist, the end result was a success. The castle courier slept in a tiny cottage against the southern wall, and as was his right, he rested until dawn unless they faced a national emergency. Minerva would have liked to foist the letter upon him and feel as though she’d finished her task, but she couldn’t bring herself to steal someone else’s precious rest. So Minerva walked the grounds, a ghost haunting the castle with eyes wide-open and a folded piece of paper in her hands.

Almost unknowingly, she’d wandered into the stables, a well-tethered instinct within her still convinced this was where she could find comfort and calm even in the worst of storms. That might not be true anymore, but least she had someone to talk to.

“Hera”, Minerva greeted with an empty tone. “It’s me.”

The wyvern’s face bleared at her from above the wooden walls, blue eyes blinking groggily.

Minerva unfolded her letter and showed it to her, fully aware of how odd she must look.

“I know you can’t read”, Minerva said, “but what do you think?”

_Maria._

_I went to the woods last week_

_He was awake_

_I didn’t kill him_

_I got some answers from him. Do you want me to tell them to you via letters, or would you rather hear them from him yourself?_

_Hope Khadein’s good._

_Your sister  
Minerva_

Hera squinted at the piece of paper, and Minerva sighed and re-folded it.

“I know. It’s not my best letter. But it should be keeping the secret well enough, right? Maybe. I don’t know.” She shoved the letter back into its envelope. “It sounded like such an easy task to write every week, but not even Maria can do that anymore. She’s way better at it than me, though. Not such a big surprise there. She’s better than me at most things.”

Hera let out a deep, troubled hum, as if asking ‘_if you’re not here to fly, what ARE you doing_?’, but she didn’t mind Minerva’s company. Whatever had grown between them wasn’t friendship, nor that of a rider and their steed – but Minerva had found a fondness in their mutual respect. Hera would probably never hold up in battle, but neither did she need to.

Minerva rested her arms beside Hera’s head. The wyvern had closed her eyes again, but her face twitched with attention. There were steps outside the stables, rustling in the pebbles of the walkway.

The courier shouldn’t be on their way out yet – but Minerva still hoped, and she tore away from the box and ventured outside. She busied herself with getting the envelope closed and struggled to seal it, so she didn’t look up until she nearly walked into the one she’d assumed to be the courier. But this man was shorter and decorated, wearing the deep crimson of the First General. As he walked, Rivan stifled a yawn and rubbed his face like a child that had just awoken from a nap – although his relaxed appearance changed the instant he saw Minerva. He yelped something incomprehensible and saluted her, eyes suddenly wide open.

“Your Majesty”, he blurted. “Apologies, I was merely—I never thought to—"

He’d paled considerably, and he had to rest his hand on his knees and exhale slowly to be able to stay standing. That Minerva felt like a ghost haunting her own castle might not have been too far off the truth.

“If this is how you respond to surprise nowadays it impresses me that you’re still alive”, Minerva greeted him.

Rivan chuckled and shook his head. “Peace has made me soft, you mean?”

“Yes”, Minerva answered. “Thankfully so. What are you doing out this early?”

Rivan finally looked up. “My ma started preparing the house – the support group will be held at our place this time and she wanted to make them all soup. There wasn’t much peace to be had, so I figured I’d get up.”

“There’s a room for you here at the castle”, Minerva reminded him.

“Thank you, yes, I know”, Rivan answered and stood up straight, no longer pale from shock. “But I prefer it this way. My parents do too.”

Minerva nodded blankly at him. She considered asking him if he’d seen the courier and then be on her way, but he was quick to continue.

“…Are you leaving again?” he asked, squinting at the stables where Hera could still be seen with her head over the edge of the fence – she was _definitely_ sleeping, but from a distance, one could mistake her for being awake and ready to fly.

“I wish you would tell me where you go”, Rivan continued. “Or that you at least bring your guards with you.”

Minerva had long since realized the secret of Michalis' survival would be impossible to keep intact forever, but she still had to fight to keep it for as long as possible.

“I do not sleep, Rivan”, she said, and her gaze darkened. “Is it so much to ask for time alone so I can rest my senses?”

She shouldn’t guilt him for doing his job, but she wasn’t sure how else to shut the topic down. She wanted to trust him, but she had too much to lose.

“Permission to speak freely, your majesty”, Rivan queried, and Minerva had barely the time to nod before he continued. “I ask because I worry that you won’t come back.”

Minerva felt the ground become unstable beneath her feet. “What makes you think I wouldn’t?”

“You seem a bit—” Rivan began, then thought better of it and cleared his throat. “…There’s a Macedon that I and my folks dream of, but without you, I cannot see it realized. That’s a lot to live up to, a lot more than I can ever fathom, and so… If there’s anything you need me to do to lessen your burdens, please tell me.”

Her silence made him shuffle his feet and look over his shoulder. “I mean, there isn’t much I _could _do, I imagine, I’m just me, but… I could bring some of ma’s soup?”

As her talks with Rivan usually went, Minerva felt ill. His outstretched hands and welcoming words, so much like Maria’s. The conviction that what he fought for would turn into a kinder world, his hopes placed on a queen with secrets threatening to bleed out of the cracks in her façade. Secrets that would ruin the last tethers she had.

The letter in her hands had turned cold in her cramped grip. She should answer him, a polite smile and a shake of her head – but his offer had left her at a loss for words. Thistles and thorns of guilt surrounded her, and the new doubts born from her meeting with Michalis grew with each beat of her heart.

She longed to feel anger and purpose. Anything but this.

\---

There was summer rain on her cheeks when she flew, drops that glittered in sunlight. The darkness of the clouds spoke of worsening weather, but Minerva didn’t really care. She had a few hours to spare, so she’d make use of them.

The last few times she’d opened the door to Michalis’ room despite knowing he wasn’t awake. Just because she could. She was the one with power. She was the one with freedom. She was the one who challenged old fear and timeless anger. None of which had saved her.

Yet here she once again dismounted in the clearing, hoping for a different result.

The healers insisted on showing her the way inside. Perhaps out of politeness, perhaps out of uneasiness. It didn’t really matter. The youngest, around Maria’s age, went so far as to hold the door to the hut for her and bow nervously as she walked past. She arced a brow at him. Really, Minerva should be bowing to _him_ and the rest of these healers that lived in isolation with someone so insufferable. She couldn’t say she was grateful for them keeping Michalis alive, but she _was_ grateful they’d managed to uphold Maria’s wish like this.

“He’s been awake these last five hours”, the young healer mumbled into the floorboards and then scurried away as if he feared she’d lift him by his collar and bash his head against a wall.

Minerva glanced after him without a word, then moved her gaze to the little room Michalis occupied. The door to his room stood askew. Minerva could see his shadow on the wall as he tried to move his head and listen.

Minerva’s restless condition couldn’t possibly get any _worse_, so she’d have nothing to lose. She attempted a soundless breath as she once again chose to step into the room, now bathed in afternoon sunlight from a southern window.

She stared at him, waited for something to stir within her. An odd sense of relief enclosed her, the same as every other time. _She was the one with power. _She was the one standing above the withering body of a man she could barely remember she’d once loved like a brother.

That sense of relief usually didn’t last long, and this time was no different. As soon as Michalis spoke, she had to bite the insides of her cheek to keep herself from grasping for Hauteclere’s handle.

_Death_, the axe hissed at her, a silent urge to defend herself.

Michalis tilted his head slightly. “Hello, little savage.”

Minerva shut the door, but she didn’t move away from the threshold. “I hope you suffered in your sleep.”

Michalis only chuckled at her response. A wind rustled the trees above and sent small seeds flying from their branches. The seeds tapped on the wooden ceiling like raindrops, and Michalis turned his eyes toward the planks of wood, smiling with the half of his face that still worked properly.

Minerva regarded him as this gentle moment played out, her defensive walls still raised. Did she understand his methods better now, wearing the crown herself? _Possibly_. Would she ever forgive him? _No_.

“There’s a stool here if you like”, Michalis said. It didn’t sound like the brother she’d known at all. Or did it, just that she’d forgotten?

“No thanks.”

Michalis found a spot on the wall behind her, staring at it intently and silently. He kept his smile plastered on, perhaps in an attempt to get a rise out of her.

“You wanted answers, last time”, Michalis said, feigning casualty. “And you got them. Care to return the favor?”

Minerva didn’t answer. He wasn’t worth words. He wasn’t worth anything.

“Why am I alive?”

Minerva clenched her jaws, made sure to dig daggers into him with her gaze. “Would it ease your mind to know?”

“Definitely.”

“Then I won’t tell you.”

Michalis put his eyes to the ceiling again and laughed an empty laugh. “Unbelievable how some experiences might change you. My little sister, being _cruel_.”

“Experiences”, Minerva repeated, tasting the ridiculous understatement of his word choice. “...’_Experiences’_. Is that how you see it?”

She could spend days listing the ways he had ruined her and everyone she loved, yet she stood speechless. The urge to leave was nearly overwhelming, but she clenched her teeth and stayed. Michalis didn’t deserve to know of her anger, he deserved uncertainty and fear. That would be a small taste of justice, one she could deliver only by not letting him get under her skin.

“If you don’t answer my questions”, Michalis said, “why should I answer yours?”

Minerva put her hands behind her back. “You think you have any power to bargain otherwise?”

“Enough games”, Michalis sighed, and the empty smile finally shifted into something familiar; annoyance. “You sound like you’ve been sitting in courts arguing in circles for months—oh, but of course. I forget, the _Queen_ graces me with her presence.”

Minerva imagined every wall she could hit him against, every most painful place to cut, breaking each finger—but outwardly, she still didn’t move.

“A word of advice”, Michalis said tiredly. “Council is a dead-end, sister. It doesn’t suit you. You’re like me in that regard.“

“I did not come to be insulted.”

Michalis tilted his head, ever so slightly. He was hungry for answers, and his follow-up question was quick as an agile parry. “Then why _do_ you come?”

Minerva narrowed her eyes. This was a game she didn’t intend to play fairly, but if she continued to say nothing, she’d have nothing to gain. Her potential answers spun around in her head. _To torment you. To torment myself. To forget, to understand—_

“Maria”, she answered shortly. It wasn’t a lie, but it definitely wasn’t the full truth either.

She could see Michalis’ mind working behind his eyes. That was a look she recognized, from his days of silently sitting with a book at the breakfast table, slight frown on his face.

“Maria”, he repeated. “…Has she been here?”

“Would it ease your mind to know?”

“Fine”, Michalis sighed, taking the hint. “Don’t tell me. I already know she has. I was awake enough to hear someone crying by my side some time ago… and it was not one of the healers, I know those. That was Maria, then.” His expression softened as he looked up into Minerva’s face. “But that would mean she was... caring for me. Why?”

Minerva stayed silent, meeting his eyes with an empty stare. She savored the glint of despair in his gaze as she once again refused to answer. He was still too proud to say ‘_please_’.

None of them spoke, although their silence was no less of a battle. They watched each other with impassive faces and waited for the other to give in. A few minutes of unyielding gazes slugged by, and Minerva asked herself why she stayed. She’d felt hatred and anger, she would return to the castle trying to savor it – but leaving would mean giving in, and if she so had to stand for hours, she’d show him there was no fight he could ever win against her. _She was the one with power_.

The sunlight soaked into a cloud, and in the distance, thunder rumbled once before rain drummed against the roof. Michalis finally looked away.

“I hope you’re more talkative the next time you visit”, he said softly. Minerva didn’t answer him, she simply opened the door and left.

\---

Minerva’s restlessness remained for weeks. She no longer tried to fight it. She merely tried to survive it. Each time she finished her duties or managed to uphold conversations was a prized success, albeit not one she took much pleasure in.

Flying to the cabin was at least something she did out of her own volition, even though it didn’t change her for the better either. As Rivan once put it, ‘_going for your relaxing flights doesn’t seem to make you that much more relaxed, your majesty_’.

He was right in that observation, and perhaps it was foolish of her to leave herself vulnerable with sleep deprivation in front of her brother so often. But she’d found herself craving the brief spark of disgust and anger. Through the opposite of a supporting hand and encouraging words, her brother strengthened her.

And with each visit, Minerva managed to stay longer than the last.

Three weeks had soon swept past, and soon volatile summer storms would once again be passing through Macedon before autumn began. It was a full year since Minerva had ventured into the wyvern enclosure and bought Hera home with her, appreciating the freedom but not expecting to take to the sky very often and _least of all _to fly to her brother’s abode. Yet that she did, time after time.

Michalis was leaning against the bed frame when she stepped into the room, as he’d come to do when he was awake. The healers had to help him to get into that position and Minerva could see just how much he hated depending on them. He didn’t express it through a fire of hatred in his gaze like she would have expected, rather an empty stare of… nothing at all. Hopelessness, perhaps. Grief?

It never lasted for more than a heartbeat, anyway. Once Michalis’ attention turned to her, the glaze of superiority returned over his eyes.

“Well, sister”, he greeted her as the healers gave them both confusing bows and left. “You’re not going to ask how I’m feeling today?”

Minerva stared at him sternly, silently. His condescending, smiling act never persisted for long when she didn’t humor him.

“I can answer you anyway—I’m not in pain”, Michalis said into the air, not looking directly at Minerva, as though he didn’t care either way. “Breathing works pretty well for me today. Everything is as usual. Healer’s gossip is extremely dull, but a spider travelled over the ceiling yesterday. That was exciting.”

Minerva leaned her back on the wall, still didn’t say anything. She waited for her hatred to spread, waited for cold malice to hunt away her indifference, but it was particularly slow to appear.

“You’re not even going to wish me a horrible day?” Michalis continued, eyes unblinking. “I’m glad you’re mature enough not to do that, but it’s quiet enough here already. I’m awake for longer now, and something... Some occasional music would be nice.”

An opening. A chance to bring him pain. Minerva pounced on that immediately, the snap of malice like the relief of a cracking joint.

“Maybe you could hum to yourself”, she snarled. “Like Maria did. For six years.”

His eyes snapped to hers, and they were wide in a moment’s horror. While it pleased her, Minerva’s heart also retched in her chest at the sight. He didn’t deserve to feel sorry for her.

With a sharp intake of breath, he collected himself and turned his attention to the floorboards. He wouldn’t address that, Minerva knew.

“We’ll skip the greetings today, then”, he said with a clearing of his throat, and he considered for a few more moments before he tried again. “Anything else you’d like to say? How fares Macedon?”

“I’m not fool enough to tell you the state of anything within our borders”, Minerva answered without changing her expression.

“Oh, please”, Michalis snapped with a glare out the window. “You’re damned _impossible_ to talk to. What, you still expect me to jump out of bed and kick you out of your comfortable throne? You think your _people _would like that?”

Minerva glared out through the window as well. _Yes_, her thoughts answered for her. _Yes, a lot of them probably would._

In a way, she wanted to ask him. How could she rouse support the way he had? Somewhere deep within her, a child was still clinging to the idea that her brother had the magical solutions to any problem.

Evidently, he didn’t. He’d ruined things beyond repair.

“The throne isn’t something I want to return to”, Michalis continued through clenched teeth. “You obviously don’t believe me, but I can assure you that it is the truth.”

“You’re sure you don’t miss telling me what to do? That was your favorite pastime, if I recall.”

Michalis breathed deeply through his nose. He recognized the dead end she was trying to lead him toward and didn’t answer her question.

“I’m not going to claim I don’t miss _some_ things about our home”, he admitted instead, with a softness in his voice she barely recognized. “My old study. I would shut myself in there when I needed time away from you, which I’m sure you remember, but I would go there even when... Even when you two were... abroad.”

“_Abroad_”, Minerva scoffed, her fingers digging into her sleeves. “How about this – every time you try to make the past sound prettier, I’ll put another knife in your lungs?”

She could hear his chest tightening, but he didn’t move his gaze.

“My study was... very quiet”, he continued without the slightest tonal shift. He wasn’t a complete coward, then. “But I could usually hear the clashing of blades from where you used to spar out in the training yard. My life was... emptier without that sound.”

“How heartbreaking”, Minerva said, sure to leave plenty of bile in her voice.

“Minerva”, he hissed, glaring down on his hands. “Stop, I’m trying to...” He trailed away, staring at the twitch of his useless fingers.

“I don’t care”, she said. “I don’t care what you’re trying to do.”

Deafening silence surrounded them. Minerva was prepared for another session of silent stares, but Michalis still didn’t look at her.

“I know you do not enjoy my company”, Michalis said with a bend of his head. “But you’re the only one who comes to see me and not Maria. Even though you say you’re here on her accord… Why is it that I never see her?”

“Perhaps she doesn’t want to see _you_.”

“Sister, _please_”, Michalis said, finally dropping his pride and begging her. “Please. If you tell me the truth for just… just a few minutes, I will answer in kind. Don’t you want to know of... Father?”

That put a pause in her breath. She had no idea that was where he was going – he possibly wasn’t, either. Maybe he was simply desperate to have her stay, to get a change from the dullness. She should leave, just to savour that… But damn him, he was right. She _did_ want this.

“You murdered him”, she said, and with it, she finally released the suspicion she’d carried within since the beginning of the war. As her words left her tongue, as she saw Michalis shut his eyes with a silent wince, she finally knew it to be true.

“Why?”

“He wouldn’t listen when I told him we couldn’t support Archanea”, Michalis answered with a deep frown. “He didn’t know, but I did – I knew of Medeus resurrection, about Gharnef’s immortality and almost complete world-ending power— Father was dooming Macedon! Our people were slaves under the dragons, once. How could I stand by and let that happen again?”

“How noble of you then, to make slaves of your own”, Minerva said. “The families of the dead praise your name.”

“Stop _pretending_!” Michalis fizzled. “Not even you could be so dense and think that there are such simple things as _rights _and _wrongs_—“

“—only _you_ would be so weak-minded to think that there _isn’t_!“

The deal about speaking truth clearly didn’t hold, as Michalis straightened his back with steaming anger and spat his words at her. “I did it to protect Macedon, you cretin! I’m not like you, acting on whims of honor—I’d thought everything through from every possible angle, and my way was the _only_ way for us to survive.”

“You can lie to yourself all you want, but don’t lie to me.” Minerva felt oddly calm, her years at court granting her the confidence to continue. “You’ve admitted Gharnef influenced you—whatever _thinking _you did wasn’t unclouded. I’ve been unfortunate enough to know you since the day I was born, and I've seen your ambition. Don’t pretend like you didn’t crave a crown enough to let the world suffer.”

Fury raged behind his gaze as he glared at her, but he did not raise his voice again.

“It’s easy to judge and place blame with all answers in hand, little sister”, he said coldly. “Humans only won this war because of Marth. Had he died in Altea like he was supposed to, Medeus would still be in power, and our people would be thanking me for keeping us in his good graces.”

“_Right_”, Minerva glared back at him – she was losing control of her indifference, but she didn’t care. “If you'd had any courage, you would have thought beyond your own selfishness.”

“Now that’s rich”, Michalis chuckled darkly. “’_Courage’_ is the propaganda of our Knight Academy. The children of kings shouldn’t believe such lies. They should use their bloody heads—”

“Which you _didn’t do_!” Minerva kicked the frame of the bed, shutting him up. “You knew about the Falchion, everyone does—and you knew of Gra’s invasion-plans. With that information, Macedon could have stepped in, saved Altea, joined forces with Archanea to take down Medeus with the holy blade in hand. You could have told father what you knew, and you’d be praised for collecting intelligence rather than brand yourself a usurper.”

They were closing into a circle of the same arguments, and so she waited, ready for his response. Michalis rolled his eyes before he closed them and pushed his lips together. He had no answer to that, then.

“You claim I do not see things clearly”, Minerva finished, breath hot in her lungs. “But had you been anything but a coward, you could have spared the world a war.”

Michalis' eyes remained closed, his face impassive. Still no answer. His consciousness might have drifted, but then again, the timing was too infuriating to be true.

“Pretend to sleep all you want”, Minerva said with another loose kick into his bedframe. “Not brave enough to even look me in the eye. You disgust me.”

The anger within her was so cold it threatened to break her. There was no relief, no control, no empowering comfort, merely an inescapable bitterness that swallowed her whole. She slammed the door, breathed hard.

Enough was enough. She couldn’t do this anymore.


	17. Stone by Stone

_Hello, Minerva_

_No, don’t tell me what The Sleeping Eagle said. I want to get those answers on my own, if possible. I’m just glad the two of you have been talking. I wonder what Palla and Catria would have said if they knew… Have you heard anything from them, yet?_

_I’m trying to focus on my studies, I swear. But I’m walking on hot coals every time I’m reminded of how cut off I am from everything, and I just know that I should be there to help— Please, tell me immediately if I need to come back home!_

_I’m sorry for sending you my woes. Since you’ve asked how things are up here – Master Merric is a good teacher. My class with him has moved on from Nature Magic History to Nature Magic Basics! Lots of things I already know, but it feels really good to finally be taught for real. I’ve also been taught by Merric’s companion, Arlen. He’s an expert in lightning magic, so it suits me fine! He’s a bit stricter than Merric, though. He won’t tolerate if you call in sick, for example. I kept healing another girl in my class to keep her fever down, so she could attend._

_Most of the time I’m with Master Wendell’s classes, though. He still tells me I’m gifted every class, and it makes me miss Talia. He also reminds me of Wrys, if you remember Wrys._

_I’m still the worst at mixing concoctions, though. I know my silence sprouts, but the rest is so difficult!_

_There was a snowstorm today. Weather’s always weird here in Khadein. _

_What’s the weather like at home?_

_And please tell me you’ve heard something from Valentia?_

_Best regards  
Your sister Maria_

Minerva had placed the letter open on her desk, using pieces of crimson rocks as weights. They wobbled and didn’t do their jobs as paperweights well, but she kept them anyway. Est had picked them out for her.

She dipped her quill in ink. Shoved some of the papers that remained on her desk onto the ‘_important papers that are less important than Maria’-_pile and begun the process of wording a response.

_Hello, Maria_

_I’ve heard nothing, I don’t know if—_

She immediately crumpled the paper and threw it into a corner of her study. Began anew.

_Dear Maria_

_Palla or Catria are yet to be heard from. They have my utmost trust, as you know. I’m sure that they are doing just fine, and that I’ll hear from them soon. Please, try not to worry._

_I’m glad to hear that you’re progressing, and that it seems that you can relax and have fun too. Remember, I want you to do that! Eat fried candy beans for me, too! Write down your findings from when your class goes to explore another ruin and share them with me! And tell Merric hello from me. Perhaps you could ask him sometime if he misses flying with me?_

Minerva found herself smiling, even just a little. She glanced out of the window, at the clouds and dark raindrops that splattered against the tinted glass.

Her smile died away, and she swallowed before she began to write again.

_The weather is fantastic here._

Minerva cleared her throat. The ink letters became blurry before her as she hovered with the quill over the document.

She hadn’t been to the cabin in days, and yet Michalis words still ached within her. The corrosive conviction in his voice a repeated echo. She’d wanted to share his stories with Maria, let them out so they no longer plagued her. But now, as Maria had explicitly told her _not_ to, she was at a standstill. She should tell Maria something small, at least. Something ordinary from Minerva’s very non-ordinary life. But what was there to tell? She could lie about the weather, because that was ever changing. So maybe she could compose some pretense that she was happy here, that she smiled as she ate her favorite food or sang in the light of the sun.

_You can lie to yourself all you want_, she’d said to Michalis. _But don’t lie to me_.

What a hypocrite she was. She was so sick of this. Of everything that came with this cursed crown. The lies of her brother that had grown to become a part of her, the fact that she couldn’t look her First General in the eye, the people calling for answers she couldn’t give— She was so, _so_ sick of it.

She gave up and finished the letter with the only phrase she knew how, an ‘_I hope to hear from you soon, loving hugs, Your sister Minerva’_, and then she cast her cloak over her shoulders and forced her door open.

She couldn’t live like this. Something had to be done.

\---

The rain was harsh against the hood of her cloak. The storm blurred her sight, but that meant she could venture out of the castle easily enough. As a shadowy figure lurking about the castle exits she _should _have had to explain herself, but no one called out to try and stop her. She took note of the potential security fault, but pushed aside the suggestions for improvements that her mind presented her. She shouldn’t lose focus, lest she’d lose courage.

Wind whipped at her cheeks when she walked down the capital’s main street. Curious neighbors, bored patrols and sleepless children all looked her way, peering out from under wooden rain shelters and doorways and windows. No one would take a walk in the rain after nightfall unless they had something very important to do, and so Minerva could feel many eyes upon her as she continued down the street. She made sure to cover her face, nervously pulling at the rim of her hood, until she reached the door she was looking for.

Made of humble oak and the inscribed family name of _Silrik_, Minerva knew she wasn’t mistaken. She knocked before she had a chance to change her mind, then held her breath. She had enough time to wonder if there perhaps wasn’t anyone home, but she didn’t have to wonder for long, as Rivan’s face appeared in the doorway.

The smell of fried vegetables hovered in the air around him, a homely light radiating from the room revealed behind him. Such a contrast to the dark storm outside, where Minerva stood like a soaked reaper of souls.

“My Queen”, Rivan greeted her, salute over his heart to hide his obvious surprise. “Is… is something amiss?”

“I need to speak with you.” Minerva looked at two elderly people by the table from under the rim of her hood. They certainly were the parents Rivan spoke of so often. Minerva had seen the mother once before, and although a brief meeting long ago, Minerva had instantly spotted similarities between her and her son.

The parents looked at her with stern faces. They weren’t the type to be deterred by an heir of Iote staring back at them, instead they asked silent questions through their gazes that made Minerva feel ill. But she wouldn’t be deterred either. She wouldn’t go back to the falsehood of her room and hide away, wouldn’t keep this secret anymore. She didn’t care for the consequences – she wasn’t her brother. She’d pull out the weeds he’d planted by the roots.

These families deserved closure.

“Can I come in?” she asked. Rivan opened the door wider and stepped aside in a wordless gesture.

The storm’s roars shut out from behind her, Minerva felt none of the house’s warmth as she crossed the threshold.

\---

When the morning sun greeted her, Minerva was alone in the council room. She’d asked the councillors to stay in their apartments, with the excuse that she wasn’t feeling well. Which was no doubt true, and yet Minerva had still decided to take her usual place to get some semblance of peace. She wasn’t hurling herself toward the forest cabin every time she needed an outlet, anymore. This place would have to do.

She hadn’t extended the message of cancellation to Rivan, for obvious reasons. She didn’t want to make her presence known to him, seeing as he’d rather forget she existed. And thus, she was completely on her own. The council table seemed so wide with its nothings. Palla should be at her right side, Maria just beside her, and Catria’s shouts should be heard from the window as she drilled the recruits. And today, not even the chair of a First General would be filled. She had to find someone else to fill that spot.

She clasped her hands in front of her face, her eyes narrow. Should she appoint Rucke for the position? She disliked the idea, disliked giving him any more influence. He wanted too many things, and too fiercely, although he painted his suggestions with concern, his idea of peace wasn’t the one she wanted. Hadn’t her father said that a First General’s place should be taken not only by someone who excelled at warfare, but also someone who valued peaceful solutions above else? Rucke was not that sort of man. Rivan was.

Who else did she have? Councillor Ida would surely revel in the idea, but it was one of the closest advisor positions to the crown. Minerva didn’t trust her enough for that.

She didn’t know anyone else. By the gods, anything was better than the crushing loneliness. She glanced out the window, where she could see the western seas. If she left, Macedon would crumble. Iote’s rule would end. Perhaps for the better of all – she’d been a fool to think she could save the name from being sullied. It was already irredeemably so.

The door opened, and she looked up. Her face twitched into a frown below her circlet, but she didn’t move further, or speak.

The chair three spaces away from her scraped at the floor, and a hand found a heart in a short salute.

“Apologies, my Queen.” The voice came from a face with dark shadows beneath the eyes and drooping eyelids. “It appears I overslept.”

Minerva still didn’t speak but gestured at him to sit. He did.

She looked away. “You may leave if you wish, Rivan.”

“I know”, Rivan answered her and leaned back in the chair with an exhausted exhale. “You said so yesterday. Well. I do not wish to.”

Minerva sighed into her hands, and closed her eyes. This was worse than loneliness. She hoped she’d be free of the guilt after she’d told the truth, but it still haunted her. His face hunted her, as did the soul-crushing realization displayed by his parents when they finally got the answers they’d searched for. Their second son had been dead for nearly a decade, and no-one had bothered to tell them. Until now.

“Permission to speak freely and without consequence?”

“Sure”, Minerva answered. “Why not.”

“My father wanted me to assassinate you.”

Minerva would have barked a laugh if she wasn’t so depleted of emotion. “Expected that. And you?”

Rivan only sighed again. “No such thoughts, your majesty. Though quite frankly, what you did was a messy thing indeed. And speaking as one partly responsible for military order... I know you deny the lifeguard appointed to you since they’re not Dame Palla, but you should not venture out into town unprotected like that, to communicate with commoners such as myself and my parents. No matter the cause.”

_No_, Minerva sighed. _I should stay in this castle and be alone with the heaviness of my wrongdoings_.

“Should I have sent an emissary, with a letter? Not a chance. Not for that. You all deserved to see the killer for yourselves.”

Rivan’s face twitched a little, and he rubbed his eye. Didn’t answer her.

“I really didn’t expect to see you, today”, Minerva admitted and nodded to the chair he occupied. “Or ever again, for that matter.”

“I did some thinking”, Rivan confessed. “After trying to comfort my father and calm my mother, which took a while… But once I got a few moments to think for myself… I decided to return. I believe you blame yourself for something beyond your control, your majesty. My brother was in the wrong room, at the wrong time, with the wrong king. Had it not been your hand that killed him, it’d be someone else’s; a guard, your knight, perhaps the king himself. Outcome would be the same. You think I would abandon all that I believe in for... for some misplaced idea of vengeance?”

He clasped his hands and rested them on the table, stared intently at them as he continued. “I knew my brother was gone. In my heart, I knew; it was childish hope that kept me looking, on the off chance that I was wrong. I can now stop that. Really, I am... Grateful for it. You could have kept this secret to your grave, but you didn’t.” He quieted. “How... How did the other families in the support group handle the news?”

“About the same way your father did. One seemed to seriously consider stabbing me with a kitchen knife, which wasn’t uncalled for.”

Rivan let out a troubled huff and pulled his hand over his face. “Why, your majesty? Why’d you stir up these old things, and create enemies among people that barely trust in you to begin with?”

“Because”, Minerva said, her voice thick with the realization. “Michalis’ throne was built on lies. I want mine to be built on honesty.”


	18. Robinsville

Catria enjoyed staying in a bed for once. Soft blankets and warm pillows did wonders to ease her mind after many long days out in the open.

They’d breached an invisible border, gone from the western regions of Zofia to the eastern regions, and the other side was just as much alive as the one they’d left. Catria had kind of expected a lawless wasteland to greet her, given the bandits and rock traps, but they’d reached a village that looked just the same as every other she’d scouted past in the west.

She was comfortable. The sore on her forehead had healed to a crust, her light-headedness had passed, and she had a duvet over her shoulders. For once, she didn’t want to leave.

Mae’s voice travelled through the door, laughing at something Boey had said and repeating it to Valbar who boomed even louder. Catria couldn’t snooze through that, so she sat up straighter. Maybe she should be mad about the interruption, but it turned out all the more difficult for her to be angry with these people. They’d saved her life, for one thing. For another, she could finally admit to consider them friends. Mae was cute when her eyes nearly popped out of her skull in awe while Boey rolled his. Valbar was loud and sweet, just like Draug had been. It made her miss the guy, reminded her of the casualties of the war, but it also reminded her of the good things that had been.

Leon and Kamui had entered the conversation too as the group outside her door moved down the stairs to the entrance of the inn. Catria overheard some of their conversation – the two of them were a sarcastic goldmine, and Catria would save at least a dozen of their comebacks for when she returned as an instructor. _If she did._

She blearily looked to the side. The bed on the other side of the room was empty. Typical of Palla to rise with the sun even when they had beds to sink into.

She walked out of her room with heavy steps. Her mind was still waking up, but with that, the rest of her situation caught up with her. Est’s matrimonial medallion thudded against her skin from her pocket, and every touch from it was like a bucket of ice-cold water over her head.

Sure, they’d rid the area of _some _pirates, but they had far too many more to end before she could let herself relax. Maybe it wasn’t so strange that Palla had rushed up so early, with her non-concussed mind being faster to process things.

Catria found her sister downstairs, sitting on a bench before a big wooden table. Genny passed by, and Palla smiled and offered her a piece of her bread before Genny continued outside. It had angered Catria at first to see her soften up to Genny like that, doting over another young, pink-haired girl like she was replacing Est... But Catria knew better than that.

“Good morning”, Palla smiled at her, always so gentle. “Did you sleep well?”

For someone who’d tossed and turned most of the night, Palla sure didn’t look bothered at all.

“I slept”, Catria answered, not showing any emotion, or _trying_ not to. “So that’s good enough. When do we leave, today?”

“Celica is passing by the smithy in the village to see if they could help us improve our odds”, Palla answered. “So, I assume we stay here until after midday, at least.”

“Should I scout until then?” Catria asked, hands behind her back. “Or do you want me to stay put?”

Gods above, she was so ridiculous. Deep inside she was scared, and who could always tell her what to do when she was? Palla. Commander.

Catria couldn’t be a general, or a leader of any kind. The day before was just one example of what happened when she got ideas of her own and involved other people in them. Catria was a _follower_. And growing up around those who were obvious leaders, what else could she be?

“Staying put is for the best”, Palla said, tearing at her bread without eating it, and her eyes met with Catria’s for a moment. “I mean… When you lost altitude yesterday, I thought I’d lose you too, so please… no more scouting ahead for a while, all right?”

Catria closed her eyes, tried to ignore the weight of Est’s matrimonial medallion. Feeling guilty and useless wasn’t anything new, but Palla’s words made her gut twist uncomfortably.

“No, of course not”, she agreed. “I’m really sorry, by the way. You should’ve let Celica and Mae and them blame me, though. You’re sittin’ alone because they think you’re untrustworthy now, right?”

“I wouldn’t say it’s that extreme”, Palla answered. “They all had errands to run, and I wanted to wait for you, simple as that. I haven’t noticed them expressing any ill thoughts of me.”

That was a relief. Catria had no doubts they were good people, but if she’d been leading a company and two people ran off to get themselves in danger, she’d probably be less forgiving.

“Still”, Catria said with a quick glare to the side, avoiding her sister’s gaze. “I’m a grown person! Let me shoulder my own mistakes, all right?”

“I’m sorry”, Palla nodded. “My instincts got the better of me. I’d hate to see you hurt even more by this.”

“Damnit Palla”, was all Catria had to say to that. “Don’t apologize.”

Sure, their relationship had grown much warmer after the war – a lot of it due to Catria having her own space to exist – but old habits die hard. And Palla apologizing to her over not being the sparkling image of a perfect guardian was what frustrated her the most.

She was getting lightheaded again, and with a quiet huff she sat down on the bench beside Palla and massaged her forehead.

“I was scared too, you know”, she mumbled. “I hate these disgusting pirates. They’re the worst. Why must they be all smart and use nets and traps, can’t they just be dumb and hurl themselves down a canyon? If they’d gotten to you, I’d be… crying forever, probably.”

She was losing some of her words. Nothing came out the way she wanted it to, but of course Palla understood what she wanted to say anyway. She put an arm over her shoulder.

“It’s supposed to be the three of us”, she said, and she could sound so soft and kind that the world melted around her. Catria could never compare to that, but it was fine. She was used to it.

“Yeah”, Catria answered. “Exactly. Let’s stick together, okay?”

“Okay”, Palla repeated with a small smile, then bent down to search for eye contact. “Are you feeling dizzy, Catria?”

“A little bit, yeah.”

“I had some breakfast made for you, if you want it.”

Catria straightened a little at that. “Made for me? Why? Isn’t there bread for all guests?”

Palla pulled out a bun from a napkin and put it on the table. It was stacked so full of raisins Catria couldn’t see any doughy parts. “I know it was a week ago, but… Happy nameday, Catria.”

Catria took it, but she merely stared at the bun without thought of eating it. Her eyes grew teary, and she could barely see anything at all as she quietly put her head to rest on her sister’s shoulder.

\---

Catria had checked in on Mara and Avil a dozen times already, and not more than a few hours had passed. She could hear the intense workings by the village smithy and could spot Saber carrying buckets of water and Valbar manning the bellows. They were all doing what they could to help so they could be on their way as soon as possible, and even though it might not be entirely because of Est (they had their own troubles that needed quick intervention) Catria’s heart was warmed by it.

She’d tried to help as well, but had been turned away by Mae, her arms full of raw ore.

“Nu-uh”, Mae had said. “You’re injured! You just focus on getting better, okay? We’ve got this!”

Catria had rubbed her forehead absentmindedly. Ignoring her and getting to work anyway would be rude, no doubt, and she didn’t want that. She focused on making sure their pegasi was ready for the journey at a moment’s notice, but there was only so much she could do with that.

The road tempted her with promises of new tracks to follow, but she tried her best to ignore it and only throw it a few glances every now and again. She stayed put, just like she’d promised Palla.

The village of Robinsville was simple and homely. Cobblestone houses with wooden roofs, tall grass that swayed in the wind and framed by lush greenery. Most inhabitants seemed to be in the wood-cutting or carpeting trade, but there were a few farmers tending the soil and herding their animals, and enough travellers passing by for them to run an inn. As Catria spent her time by the pegasi’s enclosure (it was actually a donkey's enclosure, but the animals were getting along just fine and were able to share), she simply watched every person that passed her by. Most met Catria with smiling faces and hearty greetings, and Catria just waved and nodded back at them. Eventually, two village kids ran up to her and asked if she was a real knight. Then they wanted to show off her aim by throwing rocks at wooden figures on a stump by the forest’s edge, and in lack of better things to do, Catria humoured them.

“Knock ‘em all over”, one of the kids squealed excitedly at her. “Not even my big bro can do that!”

“Sounds tricky, all right”, Catria nodded with a small smile, and the children giggled nervously at her. They were brave to approach an armed stranger like that, but their fascination helped them overcome.

With her back to the road, Catria almost enjoyed herself for a few minutes, knocking over all three figures and letting the kids run up and put them up again, urging her to repeat her impressive feat (though not _that_ impressive considering that these targets were standing still and Catria was used to putting javelins through people’s heads while flying – something she decided she shouldn’t mention to the kids).

The carefree laughter suddenly stopped and the kids stared wide-eyed toward the road, as though they’d seen a ghost, and next thing Catria knew they ran up to her and one of them even grabbed her tunic, so something had obviously spooked them.

Catria turned around. Down by the road, a man had staggered from out of the woods and panted loudly as he walked right towards them. He looked as though he’d wandered alone for weeks, his hair in long, ragged tangles and his clothes in patches, a woodcutter’s axe over his shoulder.

Catria pulled a javelin free from her stash and stared the man down. “Oi”, she called to him. “You one of Grieth’s? There’s nothing for the likes of pirates here ‘cept a nasty amount of pain.”

“Oi yourself”, the man panted and raised his arms. “No need for that! I’ve been hunting Grieth’s men since last moon! The ones I’d tracked were all freshly killed when I’d found them though, so I figured someone beat me to it and wandered down here to Robinsville looking for that someone, and that’s the full truth!”

Catria narrowed her eyes. This man could very well be a survivor from the pirate lair they’d taken down the day before, trying to trick them into trusting him only to stab them in the back. She knew that if Marth was there, he wouldn’t have hesitated to take the man by the arm and welcome him, but he was something special to be sure. Funny how Catria’s chest didn’t flutter while thinking about him anymore, but could be because she stared potential danger in the face. Not that danger usually stopped her heart from being fluttery.

“Please”, the man insisted. “They took my little brothers. If I can just find the ones that slew that camp of pirates, I could have hope of seeing them again.”

Catria lowered her javelin. It wasn’t her call. She was a follower, and shouldn’t make any more bold decisions for a while yet.

“I did my fair share in killing those bastards”, Catria told him. “But it’s not me you seek. I can take you to her, but any funny tricks and you’ll answer to me.”

“Don’t worry”, the stranger smiled – and it was no doubt a kind and unassuming smile, albeit in a face ravaged by exhaustion – and relaxed his shoulders. “I wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of your aim, missy.”

Catria glanced over on the felled wooden figurines, and shrugged. The children still huddled behind her, hesitant.

“You kids go home now, all right?” Catria told them. “We’ve got some stuff to do.”

They scurried quickly, and the man from the woods sighed and shook his head. “They’ve got sense, those two, hiding behind a warrior for protection. I wish my brothers had that opportunity.”

“Grieth’s gonna get what’s coming to him”, Catria nodded. “I’ve met plenty of awful people, and he’s up there among the worst.”

She glanced down on the man to see if this sparked any sort of disagreement or reaction in him, but the man only nodded. “If you don’t mind me asking, missy, how did you get rid of all of them pirates in the woods?”

“Javelins, swords and fire magic”, Catria answered shortly. “Did you plan to barge in there with just your axe? Got any training to speak of?”

“Nope”, the man answered and flushed red for a moment. “I’m just a woodcutter. But I had no other choice. I had to get my brothers back, didn’t matter if I was outnumbered or not.”

_I guess I can relate to that_, Catria thought. _If he’s telling the truth_.

“Lucky we got to them first, then”, Catria said. “You need a whole bunch of people for even a chance.”

Saying it out loud, she knew it to be true. And she almost wanted to laugh at herself for thinking they could get Est free just by herself and Palla.

“Yeah”, the man nodded and his glance on Catria was one of sparkling admiration. “Glad I caught up to you.”

“Don’t count this as a win yet”, Catria huffed. “You’ve still got to talk to Celica.”

Which turned out to be very easy to do. She was by the smithy too, soot on her cheeks and fire magic around her fingers that she extinguished as soon as she saw Catria come toward them.

“Missy”, the man greeted Celica. “Is it true that you will fight Grieth?”

Celica hesitated a little, but then, with a quick look on Valbar and Catria, she nodded. “My true quest is of another nature”, she answered. “But Grieth’s injustices has plagued Zofia for long enough, and I intend to fight him indeed.”

“Then please”, the man said. “Please take me with you! My name is Atlas. Grieth has taken my family, and I can’t fight him alone.”

And just like Marth would, Celica only smiled a little. “Then by all means, come with us! You’re the sixth person willing to join with us just today!” She chuckled and looked toward Saber in the smithy. “When I left my island, I never imagined I’d be... What’s the expression, Saber? Swashbuckling pirates?”

Saber nodded, pulling a pair of gloves off his hands.

“Well, expected or not, that has become a secondary goal of sorts”, Celica continued. “Greith is a blight on the land surrounding the Earth Mother’s home, and his hunt of the vulnerable is a taunt to her name. No priestess would stand aside and let that happen. We’ll be glad to have you, Atlas.”

She looked behind her, into the smithy, and her smile grew. “I’d expect we’ll be done soon. I’ve just got to help put blessings on the lot of new weapons, and then I suggest we’ll have a meal at the inn before we leave. Everyone, pack your things and be ready! We’re leaving at noon!”

\---

The inns dining hall doubled as a tavern. By noon it was filled to the brim with people, in stark contrast to the non-existent crowd at breakfast. A merry air surrounded them as a good lot of the village folk took the chance to extend their gratitude to Celica before she left. The way they spoke to her they made it sound like she’d singlehandedly cleared their trade routes and made their trail to work safer – common praise for Celica, at least insofar Catria knew. The way Celica responded to the praise with dignified humility made it seem like she’d trained for this sort of thing. Didn’t really add up to someone who’d spent most of her days praying at an altar. Then again, Catria was far from an expert in what the priests of Mila actually _did_.

With that many guests, the innkeeper was courteous in his waitering, to say the least.

“My honored guests!” he cried out, dishing out plates of porcelain (not even Commander’s dinner hall had _porcelain_). “A meal on the house for our brave heroes! Today, I’m saddened to say, we only have honey-roasted nuts over a goat steak stuffed with cheese and sprinkled with thyme-infused orange-sauce.”

“I dunno what half of those things are”, Catria muttered into thin air. She was squished in between Mae and Palla, who looked just as confused as Catria did – which the tavernkeeper seemed to interpret that as disappointment.

“Alas”, he said with a hand to his chest, leaning over to Palla as if trying to win her over. “Please try to enjoy regardless! We did offer garlic bread and spiced wine to our menu before… But since the drought, this is all we can do.”

“_This_ is starvation-food?” Catria gestured at the plate. “Are you kidding me?”

The innkeeper blinked at her in a confused manner. “It is… it is not as delicious as we’d want it to be, but we have to save our stocks of food—“

“So then save it”, Catria interrupted him. “Manage your resources, man! Cut the meat in pieces, and store it in salt! Roast the nuts without honey! Only eat the cheese once a day!”

The innkeeper stared at her like she spoke an entirely different language. “...But nobody would ever want to eat that, would they? It’d be disgusting. We’re not Rigelians, Thank the Mother.”

“Boey wouldn’t mind”, Mae shot in with a shrug. “He likes his food bland.”

“Damnit Mae”, Boey leaned over the table and hissed. “I ate raw flour once, okay? _Once_.”

Mae leaned over the table too, hissing back at him. “You said it tasted _good_.”

“No, I specifically said it didn’t taste _terrible_. Does that mean _‘good’_ in your world, Mae?”

“You’re not supposed to eat flour raw”, Genny joined the conversation from beside Boey. “You could get a really bad case of food poisoning.”

Celica, probably sensing a potential derailing of a conversation in front of half of Robinsville, cleared her throat.

“We are most pleased with what you could spare”, she said with a calm smile at the innkeeper. “Thank you so much for your hospitality. Let us also pray and extend our gratitude to the Earth Mother, for providing us.”

Catria and Palla exchanged glances as the majority of the table clasped their hands in silence as Celica, Boey, Mae and Genny recited a short prayer.

Shrines existed in Archanea, as did the belief in gods, but the difference in devotion between Archanea and Valentia was staggering. The Archanean gods were vague, spiteful figures. The thought of them taking any actions of benevolence was unheard of, and thus there was no point in thanking them or attempting communication by prayer. If they messed up a person’s life, there was nothing that could be done about it. The Divines were another matter, seeing as they were actual living beings with incredible powers—but again, praying as though they were listening was just… odd. Divine Dragons could shape and change matter, but they weren’t all-knowing miracle workers. Especially considering they were all dead, except for Tiki – wherever she’d disappeared to after the war.

Catria wasn’t sure how to phrase herself, but she had to ask somehow. She elbowed Mae carefully in the side.

“Hey Mae”, she whispered. “I don’t mean to be rude, but, uh… Who is this Mila, actually?”

“You don’t _know_?” Mae cried out in disbelief. “We’ve been hanging out for like, months, and all this time you didn’t know who _Mila _was?”

“Didn’t really think to ask until now”, Catria shrugged and ate some of the goat-roast. It was so delicious, it hurt. She kept talking with her mouth full. “I mean, I can figure out she’s your goddess or something living in a temple on the coast, and that’s enough for me. Just curious, is all.”

“I’d like to know as well”, Palla said over her plate. “She seems… important to you.”

“She is the reason we have food on our tables”, Celica smiled, but she was visibly holding back her confusion. “…Have, uhm… I’m sorry, not sure where to start—have you heard of Divine Dragons?”

“Oh”, Catria exclaimed and swallowed a second bite. “Mila’s one of them?”

She should have figured that out sooner, really.

“You didn’t even know that?” Mae gasped. “Yikes, gotta start with the basics, Celica.”

“Some shorter version of it, anyway”, Boey added. “There are decades worth of speculation and scriptures to discuss, but we’ve got places to be.”

“In the beginning, there were three Divine Dragons in Valentia”, Celica preached from memory, laying down her fork. “First there was Naga, the seer of the future and the master weaponsmith. As she walked the land, Divine twins sprouted from beneath the earth. One of them was Mila, born from lush fields and forest growth, and the other was Duma, sprouted from volcanic rock. They lived in peace together for as long as Naga watched over them, but when she wandered on, Duma and Mila were left alone on a continent full of humans who needed their help to survive. Mila wanted to give the humans everything they wanted, so that they’d never have to go hungry, while Duma wanted them to grow and develop. Thus he provided his blessings of strength, so that the humans could work the soil even though it was harsh and bare. The twins could not agree on how to rule, so they split the continent and created the Divine Accords. Duma’s influence may not reach us in Zofia, and Mila’s benevolence may not reach Rigel.”

“That’s at least how _Mila’s_ followers speak of the Beginning”, Boey butted in, clearly too excited to share his thoughts to be able to hold back. “Because of the Divine Accords we don’t know how Duma’s followers have interpreted the myth of creation!”

“I bet it’s dark and gloomy”, Genny added. “That fits Duma.”

“I bet it’s fiery and intense”, Mae disagreed. “Now _that _fits Duma!”

“Let’s not get distracted”, Celica chided with a tiny laugh and lifted her fork again, plucking up a bit of goat roast. “But those are the basics. Please don’t hesitate to ask us about Mila – it is our purpose as priests and priestesses to spread her benevolence.”

“Got it”, Catria answered, almost too quickly, and turned her attention wholeheartedly on her plate. She’d noticed how Boey had glanced at her, ready to ask about Archanean gods and whatnot, and she hardly felt up to that task. She’d not even been able to recap the basics of Macedonian history without feeling like a fool.

“Then if I may”, Palla said hesitantly. “The reason you’re journeying to Mila is to… speak with her? Why, precisely?”

“The soils been acting up for almost a decade”, Mae answered. “And it’s just getting worse and worse ever since… yeah…”

“Ever since the king’s murder by the usurper Desaix”, Celica filled in for her. “Zofian royalty was chosen and blessed by Mila in the Beginning. The first one was queen Eiviga, and only her predecessors may take the throne and thus uphold Mila’s favor. Zofians have never been short on food. Our harvests was always plentiful, it was never too hot nor too cold... Until eleven years ago, when the soil stopped nurturing and we rarely saw rain. King Lima was a terrible man, and the decay began because of him spoiling Mila’s favor for his own gains. But since his death less than a year ago, the droughts and diseases have escalated, and many people starve.”

Catria glanced down on the goat roast for a moment, and then decided not to comment about it. Upholding a façade of normalcy was all too familiar to her, that these people who’d known quality food for generations would try to emulate what they’ve been taught made sense. She couldn’t agree with how they decided to spend their resources, but then again, she was merely a stranger in these lands. That didn’t stop a tug of pity in the center of her chest from expanding. She didn’t like the thought of being so dependent on the whimsy of a dragon – divine or no.

“So…” Palla hesitated. “Speaking to Mila will make it better?”

“It will”, Celica smiled, and she radiated a soft kind of confidence that only devout belief could create. “I’m sure of it.”

Catria exchanged another glance with her sister. None of them voiced any further questions, but Catria could feel the discomfort crawl up the back of her neck like a slow-moving chill. She knew better than to put her faith in a dragon.

\---

It was a strange band of people that left Robinsville. All sorts of people had joined their cause for their own reasons. A pair of fathers worried that the bandits would one day strike their village down the way they’d done with Atlas’ home, hunters who could shoot bows good enough and didn’t mind the thought of shooting down a few of Grieth’s men, and the blacksmith’s daughter who could hurl a sledgehammer around better than most others. An odd group off all ages and abilities, their sights nonetheless set on the same goal – the desert sands of Zofia’s eastern coast.

It hadn’t always been like this, Celica told them once they’d reached the edge where endless sands begun. The soil was loose in these parts to begin with, and after the droughts begun the land had grown bare, ocean winds weathering and spreading the harshness like a curse from Duma himself. Unheard of in the sheltered kingdom that was Zofia, although piracy clearly wasn’t. Valbar insisted that the piracy had begun long before the desert in these parts. About time someone did something about it, then.

One positive aspect of the bareness around them was how easy it was to spot the closest buildings. All Catria and Palla had to do was go straight up and circle around for a bit, and the dunes could no longer hide its secrets. A few village ruins, some rock formations – and a giant fortress closer to the coast.

What else could it be but Grieth’s base of operations? The temptation to dart over there and have a closer look was almost irresistible, but Catria held back. The rest of the group struggled to move in the sand and the pace was yet again painfully slow.

_Just breathe through your nose_, Catria tried to tell herself, the medallion in her pocket cold as ice. _Hang on, Est. We’re coming, soon._

By nightfall they’d settled behind a sharp formation of gray rocks, close enough to lay siege to the fortress in the morning. Obviously the bandits had spotted them, what with Catria and Palla soaring through the empty skies, but the fortress lay quiet still. Expecting the worst, six people would be awake at any given time during the night and not letting an eye off the fortress, just to be on the safe side. These bandits were clearly no strangers to ambush and schemes.

And so it was that Catria lay on her belly in the sand and stared at the flickering lights inside the fortress, Atlas beside her.

A bath and a hairbrush later, Atlas had looked handsome indeed, which was just typical of Catria to notice, but her heart didn’t feel as weird as it had with Clair. Granted her interest never felt exactly the same, but she at least hoped her heart wouldn’t play any more tricks on her.

“Do you figure your sister’s in there?” Atlas muttered into his arms, where he rested his chin.

“Yeah”, Catria answered in a quiet breath. “And your brothers too, no doubt.”

“I don’t know about that”, Atlas said, his frown evident in his voice. “I hope so, but it seems… a bit too small for it to be a headquarters, you know? Greith controls half the kingdom, and holes up in this little fortress? I’d take him for the kind of man who’d want a lavish palace with a hundred guards.”

“Greedy bastard”, Catria agreed. “Maybe he doesn’t expect people to come marching to his home, though, and that’s why it’s so quiet?”

“He has his fingers in a lot of cauldrons, that’s true… His men out raiding Zofia while the rest of us can do nothing but shiver and cry.”

He was quiet for a bit, and Catria merely watched as a candle burned down in one of the windows. Where would the dungeons be in such a place? Where would be the safest place to make her plunges? Where would the archers hide and how should she go about trampling them? Gods, she missed Commander.

“I just hope my brothers are doing all right”, Atlas said with a small sigh. “Alv is probably trying to keep them safe, but Wil never handled hot days well, and Ynge could never sleep unless he got to check every candle was out...”

“I’m sure they’re fine”, Catria consoled him. “And if Est’s there with them, I just know... She’ll make an effort to make them feel safe. She may be the youngest of us, but she’ll try, I know it.” She paused for a few moments, before tearing her gaze away from the fortress. “How old are your brothers?”

“Wil is the youngest, he’s eight”, Atlas said through gritted teeth. “Alv is fifteen, and the eldest... But it was I who took care of them. A mighty mess I am, going out to chop down new trees just when the pirates come to raid.”

“You couldn’t have known”, Catria said, and her heart ached as she said it, because she too felt like a mess for not going to visit Est _just a week earlier_, damnit—

“Suppose I couldn’t have”, Atlas said with a shake of his head. “It was a wee place up in the mountains, my village. We were nary a three dozen living there to begin with. There were bigger lots by the foot of the mountain, so it wasn’t _isolated_, just a bit wayward. Very peaceful and honest, with Mila’s bounty upon us there was plenty to be hunted and gathered in those woods, but with each year… It got harder and harder to make a living. The timber needed for a trade of food on our table was getting ridiculous. It was a moon ago that I ventured into the forest and did not return for a full week, hurling three stocks of lumber with me home, and that’s when I saw everything razed to the ground and not a soul in sight. Horrible, it was. The elderly lay slain and scattered… A nimble dozen had survived and told me of Grieth’s pigs coming for our simple settlement. They killed the elderly and took the young with them.”

“A spear in the face is too good for this guy”, Catria murmured. “It’s like he’s locking people up for the fun of it.”

“He fancies himself a king”, Atlas grunted. “Suppose he plans to build that kingdom on the backs of the weak by forcing them into servitude, or because he thinks himself powerful enough to keep people like collections, or because he needs laborers to build everything he desires… I’ve picked up a rumor or two on the matter. And the more I hear, the more I want to drive my axe through his skull.”

“Tomorrow you will”, Catria nodded.

She could sense Atlas’ doubt in the way he changed his stance. “I hope so.”

\---

The blacksmith’s daughter from Robinsville took an arrow to the shoulder, and even so she still bashed the fortress’ doors open with two strikes of her sledgehammer. The wood was dry and the lock not set properly so even Catria could’ve turned it to splinters with a few attempts.

Ten people awaited them within the fortress walls. Originally, they’d been closer to twenty, but once Catria’s javelins rained with the mages’ lightning and flames, that number was quickly reduced. The units on the ground struggled to coordinate, though, and Boey was the next one to have an arrow sticking out of him. Nothing too bad, but Celica’s team was far from experienced warriors, and the archer towers was the fortress’ only redeeming quality, which didn’t mix well. Obviously, the towers needed to go.

Pebbles rained as Palla soared down on top of the western tower and flung herself inside through the window with her usual acrobatic grace, her sword gleaming furiously.

Catria would not make as great an entrance, but the pulse of battle surged through her veins and she wasn’t afraid. An arrow whistled past her cheek as she made a run for the eastern tower window on top of the fortress crenellations, and Catria grinned as she let her javelin fly.

“Joke’s on you!” she shouted as the tip pierced the archer’s padded fur armor and caused him to stagger. “This is like, the _one_ thing I’m good at!”

She hurled herself through the window and freed the javelin from the archer’s chest, bringing the other three in the secluded space a swift end. They barely had time to look surprised, and Catria had no time nor need to feel sorry for them. They’d chosen their side.

Catria put her hands on the stone of the windowsill and watched the fortress yard go up in flames.

This was the second time Catria had seen Celica fight, and that priestess could surely hold her own. A surreal feeling struck her as the final bandit went down from one final crack of lightning from Mae. Before his dying moment the bandit cursed at the skies for reinforcements not coming to their aid and he spared no breath curing Mila, too.

Catria couldn’t care less about his final rambles. They’d done it now, right? _Right…_ The surreal feeling of victory slowly left her as she looked around the little yard, at the weak attempt of defense from someone who called himself a king, who’d taken control over half of Zofia and razed the once mighty kingdom of Grust…

Atlas doubts finally landed with her, and she cursed her hopes. This was just a dumb little outpost, wasn’t it? A bunch of Grieth’s guys at the edge of the desert, a link in a chain… The emptiness of the fortress glared back at her, and she quietly ventured down the stairs. Mara sailed down beside her and shook her mane calling out to Avil who carried Palla with him down to join the rest in the yard.

Atlas looked like he’d ran head-first into a sword, Boey was pale as a sheet but still breathing, and the blacksmith’s daughter tried to calm them both with ‘_hey look, I’ve got an arrow in me too and you don’t see me complaining!’_. That was all they had as far as injuries went, and Genny was competent enough to handle them all.

Catria must have looked like she didn’t care, merely staring at them, but her chest was growing darker by the moment.

_She’s not here_, her common sense told her, and she wanted to break apart. This wasn’t a victory, just a teensy warm-up—

Palla put her hand on her shoulder, and it was something so warm and safe about it Catria wanted to shrug it off. She didn’t want safety and warmth, she wanted _Est_.

“We’ll have a look around”, Palla said to Celica who merely nodded, distracted by Valbar’s ‘_there’s enough jugs to water a whole FOREST in these kitchens, fellas—and they’re all full and crystal clear!’_

Catria didn’t care about water. She pushed the door to the longhouse open. She was met by jewels and riches thrown onto sand-covered barrels, next to bedrolls that looked so thin one might as well sleep on the ground. The contrast was jarring, and even Catria could deduce how unimportant this place was by now. Surely no one would keep any prisoners _here_.

But she still hoped. She kicked down the door she figured was leading down deeper. Which lead to a ‘_yowza!’_ from further in.

Catria walked down the stairs, Palla right behind her, and they were met by a room with a few overturned chairs and barred doors. It was almost refreshingly cold down there, but the darkness was a shocking contrast.

She knew she’d heard a voice, and she didn’t have to look for long. An arm hung out through one of the barred doors, and when she looked closer, she was sure that the face would be pushed through the bars too, if it were possible. It was pushed against the bars so much it looked like a square – or perhaps that’s just what the prisoner’s jaw looked like already.

“Hey-a there!” The voice reminded Catria of glinting silver. “You pretty ladies ain’t pirates! What a lucky day for me, eh?”

“Palla, what do you say to turning around?” Catria said tonelessly. “There’s no one here.”

Her go-to response, as always, was to establish that she wouldn’t be manipulated. This man spoke like someone who was used to getting his way, and she didn’t like him.

“Hey— Hold up!” Square-face yelled, pushing his arm further out. “I’m much too young to starve! Mind getting me out, pretty please? I ain’t a pirate either! I’m here because I saw ‘em close to the shore, and they’d taken this really cute girl, I just had to get her outta there—”

Catria was by the bars immediately, Palla right by her side, her sword still out.

“A girl, you say?”

It was a loose hope, a _tiny _hope—

The prisoner smiled and lifted his hand in a little shrug, content with drawing their attention. “Yeah, I was just walkin’ the shore when I saw old Grieth pass by – now I wasn’t stupid enough to go after that bastard before, but the girl, just... what a sight! Hair like the damned sunset... They were walking her on the deck, and I just know she saw me because she looked to the shore... Ah, and then to witness her biting a man’s arm hard enough I could hear his screams all the way from where I stood! Now that’s a lady I’ll like.”

Catria held her breath, her hunger for news on Est greater than her annoyance at this random prisoner talking about her like he’d ask her to marry him. She could live that down, just to know anything at all.

Palla was absolutely still, but her eyes were glossy. “Sounds like Est, all right.”

“You know her?” The prisoner smiled so wide, Catria both wanted to return it and punch him in the face. “Hang on, lemme guess— Sisters, right?” He winked. “Beauty and size runs in the family, eh?”

Catria leaned on the bars with one arm, glaring at him with as much cold as she could muster. She was not in the mood for flirting antics.

“Did anything else happen that you could see?” she asked. “Was she hurt?”

The man’s smile died away, and he shrugged again. “Nah, she seemed fine. Grieth don’t want his collections harmed, you see. Well, she was healthy enough to hop down from the railing and try to swim toward me – and heck, I was already swimming to get her as well – but her hands were bound, and the pirates hopped in after her and pulled her back, before I could even get close!”

Catria closed her eyes and rested her forehead against her arm on the bars. “Damn it”, she whispered, not sure whom or what she cursed at.

“That was my thought exactly”, the prisoner agreed. “Well, I wasn’t gonna leave that job half-done, so I stormed after ‘em, toward his main fortress over in the east.”

Catria nearly bristled, hope and despair clashing within her. “You _know_ where the main fortress is?”

“Vaguely”, the prisoner answered with a hint of hesitation. “I didn’t exactly get a close look. Turns out trying to take on a group of slavers single-handed is a terrible idea.”

Catria snorted a joyless laugh. There was something so ironic about the thought that if Catria had gotten her way and attacked Grieth alone, they’d probably share a cell with this man.

“You can laugh at my misfortune all you like, lady”, the prisoner said, a bit hurt. “But I’d like it better if you did it while I was out there to laugh with ya.”

“Of course”, Palla said, always the peacemaker. “We’ll get you out.”

“Thank you kindly. The name’s Jesse, by the by.” The prisoner grinned, and put his head in an angle Catria was certain was only to showcase the bright gleam of his teeth, and once again, she wanted to punch him in the face, and she guessed it wouldn't be the last time, either.


	19. Proud Jailer

Est was apparently lousy at singing lullabies. She had not entertained the thought of having kids, at least not _yet_. She was just nineteen, and she’d been busy with finding herself a place in a peaceful world. She’d been pretty good at it. The finding-her-place part. Not the kid part, obviously.

Then again, these kids didn’t care if she only hummed half of the words, they didn't have many other options in these dungeons. She tried to tell them stories and inspire them to stay strong, but she wasn’t sure how convincing she was seeing as they didn’t understand anything about Archanea, so ‘_we didn’t even back down facing the Sabre Order_’ didn’t really pack much of a punch for them.

Est had seen a few people come and go from the cells of this pirate fortress, most of whom hadn’t been very talkative and then later sold to shady farmers and nobles in need of laborers or decorations. The most recent ones were these kids and a couple of youths from some mountain village. The youths had broken down pretty quickly and promised to serve, as long as they didn’t have to rot away in the damp darkness of uncertainty.

And the kids, having refused that, were left in the spot beside Est. What animal would cram _three_ kids in _one _little cell? Est had plenty of space – enough to take five whole steps in either direction. She claimed she didn’t have many protective instincts (Palla must have sucked all of their ability out of them as they grew up because she was enough for three people), but she really wished they could have put the littlest kid with her so she could stroke his hair and try to comfort him. He was _scared_, damnit!

So was she, but she’d be damned if she showed it. She could have killed an entire army just to have Abel kiss her cheek again and have him hold her in a way she felt like she was small and safe, even though she was taller than him. She missed him so much.

This continent was a burning dumpster fire and it was probably where she’d die. She should adapt and become more meager, be a nice accessory like these bastards wanted – but she was a Whitewing, the _Firefly_! She’d break their noses and knock them down with her fists until they bloody killed her – and she wouldn’t be sorry. They’d never break her.

“Hello there”, a silky voice greeted from the doorway, and Est spun around.

This jailer was a new one. She had perfect hair and a sharp face and deep eyes. Even in this dull light, Est could tell she was stunning. She carried their bricks of food through some kind of magic, they hovered in a train behind her. What a show-off.

“What happened to the last guy?” Est scoffed at her. “Got scared because I told him I’d kick his teeth out?”

“Oh no, he simply claimed he had more important things to do.” The lady let out a small huff and sidled the bricks of food down beneath the doors. “Although that’s definitely a lie. He’s up there napping with his stinking feet out in the open. He told me to keep a watchful eye on you though. Hence the magic.” She frowned and looked at Est more thoroughly.

“He also said you took the jailer before him by the collar and bashed his face against the bars?”

“Pretty much.”

“Thanks for that. He was such a bother. But I’ve got to warn you, their patience isn’t endless. Keep this up and the novelty about your heritage will wane and they’ll realize it’s easier to put an arrow between your eyes than to keep you around.”

“I’m not scared”, Est lied and stretched her neck. “My sisters are gonna come for me, and they’ll do much worse. In fact, they’re probably coming here with the entire Macedonan army! And we used to kill dragons for breakfast. You lot won’t stand a chance!”

“My”, the lady nodded. “Is that so? …I too had sisters, once. I don’t think they’d lead an army to get me out of a prison, though.”

That sounded pretty sad to Est. Obviously sisters would tear the world apart to save one another, right?

“Well, _my_ sisters will.” Est angled her chin at the jailer, and got to her feet. Unsurprisingly, the lady was shorter than her, and she wanted to show it off.

“Our brother too!” Alv, the eldest of the brothers in the cell next to her, tried to display some courage by standing by the bars as well. “And he can haul whole trees!”

The jailer wrinkled her nose and glanced over at the boys. “You’re a bad influence on them, Archanean. Believe me, you’d do better to behave. That’s how you survive with Grieth.”

“Is that why you’re here performing menial tasks that are obviously beneath you?” Est usually didn’t like to try and sound smart, but heck if Maria hadn’t been proud of her for stringing such a sentence together.

“Grieth is more of a means to an end for me”, the jailer smiled. “But keeping in his good graces sure helps. For example, if he tells me to fry you with my magical talents, I will. You seem like a fascinating young woman, so it’d be a shame, but I’d still do it.”

“Good luck with that”, Est said and crossed her arms. “I have enough resistance to manage a dark spell that had a whole army become useless, and that oh-so-powerful dark mage is dead as dust now. We killed him, even though they said it was impossible.”

That put a pause in the jailer’s superior attitude, and a light of interest lit in her gaze. “Did you now?”

“Yep”, Est said, and circumstances be damned, she could still be proud of her accomplishments. “So when my sisters and our army comes, your magic won’t amount to much at all.”

“Hm”, the jailer said and corrected a strand of hair on her shoulder. “I highly suspect you’re laying it on a bit thick, but there _has_ been talk about the southwestern fortress being taken down by some priestess…”

Est wasn’t sure why her jailer would share such information, and tried her best to be suspicious and not lose her cool—but what if it _was_ Macedon coming for her? Why’d there be priestesses with them? There was a priestess in these dungeons, but she insisted on praying for Est rather than speak with her. Not the type to fight back or do anything useful. This didn’t really add up.

“My”, her jailer mused, mostly to herself, it seemed. “Your threats might actually have some weight to them. Well, Grieth would have it coming. If your so-called army does come marching, maybe I’ll go for a little convenient stroll? Who’s to say? I’m far too beautiful to die, after all.”

There were a bunch of smart things Est could have probably answered to that, but all she did was lift her chin (like Commander would) to mark the end of their talk, and the jailer shrugged.

“We’ll see more of each other”, she said. “Until any armies amass at our doors though, let’s play nice. My name is Sonya. Treat me better than your last jailers, and we'll do just fine."

Maybe this lady was just trying to trick her. Or maybe, Est had found a potential friend. She sure hoped so. She always liked having friends. But she had to smart about it, think it over. This wouldn't be the last time the two of them talked, after all.

Sonya took her silence well enough. "Have a nice dinner, Archanean”, she said as her farewell, and she smiled as she began her ascent up the stairs.


	20. The Fiend’s Rapture

_Princess Anthiese awoke to the floor shaking beneath her bed. Her mind was sluggish despite the shock, the air thick when she tried to breathe._

_She almost fell out of her bed holding her hand over her nose and mouth. Her throat hurt and her coughs racked her body. The smoke was everywhere, and her eyes hurt so much._

_She had recently discovered she was able to summon sparks to her fingertips, which she’d proudly showed Nana who had told her to be VERY careful with that, lest she set fire to things._

_And Anthiese had been! She’d been good! This couldn’t be her fault!_

_“Nana!” she cried out as she tried to push her door open. “Nana! Conrad!”_

_Something, someone, had barred the door. She could only push it open a little bit. She couldn’t even press a finger through the nock, but the smoke found its way in like a never-ending plume and Anthiese could see the flicker of flames in the hallways she’d known so well. The framed paintings she and Conrad had made that Nana had hung on the wall had crashed onto the floor. The beautiful glass windows melted. Everything that was normal was burning, burning—_

_“Conrad!” Anthiese howled out into the hallway again, pushing as hard as she could and trying to seize that magical part of her and control the flames coming her way, but she couldn’t. Why hadn’t she practiced more?_

_She heard cries from further down the hall, voices she didn’t recognize._

_“Captain Slayde! The roof collapsed down toward the Lima spawn’s room, we can’t reach her—”_

_“It’s supposed to look like an accident, ain’t it? The fewer sword-marks on her bones, the better! Let her burn! Let’s lock the prince in the same way.”_

_“Aye! Right this way, Captain!” _

_Anthiese could hardly breathe as she slammed her palms into the door, turning them nearly numb. “No! Conrad! CONRAD!”_

_Mere seconds had passed since she’d awoken, but her head felt heavy already and her next push at the door was weak._

_“Please”, she whispered as she sank to the floor, the heat of the flames growing ever closer. “Is anyone there?! Somebody, please…”_

_Another rumble of broken pieces falling to the ground. The floor quaked once again, and Anthiese covered her head with a wail. Her eyes were too dry for her to be able to cry, and soon she wouldn’t be able to breathe—_

_Another rumble, and closer this time. And the next thing she knew, her door was flung open._

_“Princess Anthiese!”_

_Anthiese gasped and crawled backwards. This was another voice she didn’t recognize, a stranger, someone dangerous—! She grasped a pen from her desk, breathing heavily as she put it in front of her face in defense._

_“Ah!” she gasped, looking up into the imposing, armored man before her. “Who…are you? Don’t… Don’t come near me!”_

_“I am Sir Mycen, Your Highness.” The man’s voice was calm despite the roar of the fire. “I served your father as a knight. I’m here to take you to safety. Come with me!”_

_With that, the stranger plucked her off the floor like a rug, and Anthiese could only let out another gasp before the knight had stormed out of the room._

_“You were very brave to hang on all by yourself, Your Highness”, the stranger Mycen told her through gritted teeth and hoisted her up further so she could put her arms around his neck. Which she did. It was an instinct to do so, and a strong one at that. There were still yells of all kinds around her, and she thought she recognized the stable lady let out a guttural cry that ended in an instant._

_“I don’t… I don’t understand”, Anthiese hiccupped. ”I woke up and smoke _ _was everywhere… It was hot, and it hurt, and… And no one came to help even when I yelled as loud as I could!”_

_“_ _Well, I am here now, and I won’t let anything bad happen to you!” Mycen looked over his shoulder once and darted into another hallway – toward the kitchen back door, Anthiese realized._

_“Did father send you?” Anthiese asked, her head feeling heavier by the second._

_“Yes”, Mycen answered hesitantly. That was such a big lie, even Anthiese could pick up on it with her head dizzied by smoke. King Lima would easily let all his children burn for a plate of fine cheese, so he obviously would not bother with sending anyone to save them when they were in trouble._

_Another guttural scream, and from the kitchenhand, this time._

_“_ _Damn you, Desaix”, Mycen coughed and tackled the kitchen door open. “That monster of a man aims to leave no witnesses alive. I’m afraid things may get a little bumpy, Your Highness. Whatever you do, don’t look. Close your eyes, now!”_

_Anthiese did as she was told. She would have closed them anyway, because she was feeling… so dizzy… maybe the flames burned her… she felt some kind of pain in her neck, and things were indeed bumpy as Mycen’s arm flung out from his side and there were sounds of steel clashing…_

_“Stay with me, Your Highness! Ah, curses, where did I put that tincture—drink this, Your Highness!"_

_Anthiese was beyond thinking about why’s and why not’s. She gulped something bitter-tasting down, and grimaced. Although after a few breaths, her head cleared slightly. Enough for her to feel how her neck and arms HURT._

_She opened her eyes and saw the empty gaze of the kitchenhand stare back at her, a gash in his throat—_

_She pinched her eyes shut again, her heart racing. Everything that was normal burned, burned, everyone she knew with their lifeblood running out of them and she didn’t understand why this was happening, but she had to know, she HAD TO KNOW—_

_“Sir Mycen”, she wheezed. “My brother—where’s Conrad?”_

_“Your Highness”, Mycen said hesitantly and out of breath as he leaned on the ivy-covered fence around the villa that had been Anthiese’s home. “I… I checked every room on my way to you. There are none left alive. It pains me to say this, but I fear Conrad is no longer with us.”_

_No… that couldn’t be! Why?_

_“Get those pheasant rats!” Captain Slayde cried out from the front garden. “Leave none alive, you hear me?”_

_Mycen put a hand on Anthiese’s head, gently. “The time for grief will come, Princess. For now, you must survive! You will hide, with a new home, and a new name, and you’ll be safe. I will not let these men find you, I swear it!”_

_With that, Mycen climbed the fence and hoisted Anthiese on top of a war horse in the same movement as he himself mounted. With a press of Mycen’s shins, the horse set off into a steady gallop, and the rumble of the Third Royal Villa falling apart grew into a distant, distant memory._

***

The heat from the desert sun would have been unbearable if it had not been for the fathers from Robinsville bringing hand-made parasols with them. Celica had to admit she hadn’t planned ahead for what a deep delve into the desert would mean, and was ever-grateful for the small amount of shade the parasols wrought. There was also the occasional peagaus blocking out the sun, as the Archanean sisters circled above and kept a lookout for any buildings.

The burning sensation below Celica’s feet did bring up some unpleasant memories, but it was just as distant as the scars of fire on her neck. She wouldn’t need to stay in this desert forever, and that thought helped press her worries away.

Jesse had provided them with a direction for Greith stronghold, which was _something_, but they’d found at least eight village-ruins, empty save from a few scavenger hounds. Torn fabrics that had once been curtains flapped in the dry wind, and Celica tried her best to power through the chills of desolation within her.

Once Celica had offered herself to become what she was born to be, Mila would undo this bleakness and show them her grace once again. This desert was only temporary. It would flourish with trees and meadows within a few weeks, of this Celica was certain, even at the mercy of harsh heat and thirst.

“This makes me wish I’d studied ice magic”, Mae groaned beside her. “Just how many more of these ruins and small fortresses must we run into until we find the one Grieth’s holed up in?”

“As many as it takes, Mae.”

“Typical that you’d say that”, Mae sighed and spun her parasol around. “Hey, so… Not to go all battle-tactics on you, but what’s your plan when we _do _meet the guy?”

“Turn him to ashes and pray for him?”

“That’s nice of you”, Mae grinned. “I was planning to do an anti-prayer.” Her grin faded slightly and she looked up into the cloudless sky. “I dunno, I just kinda… Okay. Don’t tell Boey, but I was actually really worried for him when he got that arrow through him a week ago. I don’t want to worry like that for you.”

Celica smiled and shook her head. “We’ve gone through a dozen battles since leaving Novis, and I’ve yet to get injured.”

“_Hey_, don’t jinx yourself!” Mae cried and grasped her parasol harder. “Remember back on Novis when you said ‘_I’ve yet to slip on these wet rocks so I can keep jumping on them’_, and then you slipped and fell HARD?”

Celica laughed behind her hand. “Well, it went fine up until then!”

“Just leave the dramatics to me, okay?” Mae said with a pleading gaze. “Don’t go rushing into danger and stuff.”

Celica couldn’t promise anything like that, unfortunately. She’d spent so much of her life running, the thought of taking the bull by the horns herself was an addicting one. Perhaps she could carry the world, perhaps she could use her power to protect those she held dear, perhaps she _could _singlehandedly barge into a pirate fortress and end the suffering they caused—then perhaps she’d finally feel like she’d fulfilled her duty. Mila had watched over her and given her a second chance at life, and she couldn’t waste that by hiding away anymore.

The shadow of a Pegasus swooped close above them, and the gust of wind forced Mae to hold on to her parasol harder. The pegasus’ hooves sank down in the sand and its neck glistened with sweat, but its rider looked like she’d just been on a leisurely stroll. It was a bit uncanny how little the Macedonans’ faces moved and how cold and distant their gazes could be. Celica tried her best to understand them, and out of the two, Palla struck her as the easiest to speak to. That it was her before Celica now was a slight relief.

“There are men on the move”, Palla reported. “Half a day’s flight eastward. They seem to be making their way out from the outpost Catria spotted earlier.”

“What’s that mean?” Mae blurted. “Pirates out for a jog?”

“Reinforcements”, Palla answered with cold certainty. “They’re lightly armed, not much luggage—they’re prioritizing speed. I’ve seen my fair share of strategical reinforcement, and this is how you do it effectively.”

“Meaning we could cut them off if we hurry”, Celica concluded, but Palla gave her a short shake of her head.

“They could be leading us into another trap, baiting us into following them – but on the other hand, if our presence is known to Grieth and he wants to defend himself, he needs his men. I’d suggest we follow them in the hope that it leads to him. Catria can’t track as easily out here, after all.”

The experience was evident behind her words, like a thick brick wall. Small talk with Palla was almost unattainable, although she was nice, and Celica knew very little except that she’d lived her whole life as a dedicated knight, and that certainly showed.

“Sounds wise”, Celica agreed. “It’s the best we’ve got, anyway. Will you be able to keep an eye on them without getting shot down?”

At that, Palla smiled like Celica had told her a joke. “It’s nice of you to ask, milady, but I can promise you. Once was enough.”

Celica frowned but had no time to answer before Palla took to the sky with a press of her heels and a rush of wind in Celica’s hair.

They had a goal. That sure counted for something. Celica ducked in under Mae’s parasol again, and tried not to think about what Alm would’ve said. She didn’t know him well enough to guess, but probably something like ‘_hey, you found the pirates, I’m happy for you_’ and then go off running into Rigel with his sword over his head, shouting ‘_death to the Divine Accords_’ or something. Which was an obvious exaggeration, but she still felt betrayed, so she would still be mad and exaggerate all she wanted.

When she’d heard of the Deliverance taking the castle, she’d thought her mission would be easy, but nothing in her life ever would be. Sure, Alm may keep the human threat at bay (without Mila’s blessing though, which was just _absurd_), but fixing the lasting future for their kingdom fell to Celica. She wasn’t sure where that would lead her, not yet. She tried to imagine what would’ve happened if Celica had been completely honest with Alm that day, but really, she couldn’t fathom it. One step at a time.

“Okay, so you’re really serious all of a sudden”, Mae pointed out and hooked her arm into Celica’s. “You _know _clenching your teeth is bad for you.”

Celica chuckled and leaned into Mae – such a simple thing to do, but it still eased her heart.

“I’m just thinking about the future.”

“Aw”, Mae sighed. “Seriously? I ask about battle tactics and this is what I get. I can’t even plan for _today_. Play follow-fiddle with pirates, have lunch, more follow-fiddle, dinner, sleep—oh, think you can put Atlas and that other new guy Jesse together at the night watch? They totally seem like they’d be buds!”

“Night watch isn’t exactly for making friends.”

“Ugh, boring attitude, Celica. Just look at them—an hour of talking and they’ll be best friends forever, one hundred percent!”

Celica did look at them. Jesse was busy praising Valbar for being a man of honor, while Atlas walked in silence beside Saber and either glanced up at Catria or stared straight ahead. Celica didn’t really see whatever it was Mae saw, but she could be wrong. She supposed there was only one way to find out.

***

Mae was right, as usual. Both Atlas and Jesse looked almost disappointed when it was time for their watch to end. There were plenty of things that would go Celica by if Mae didn’t point them out to her, even though it was the other way around a lot of times, too.

Celica did not follow in Atlas’ and Jesse’s footsteps, though. Her night watch companion was Palla, who stood upright for the whole thing like she was in attention outside a royal hall – seriously, how did she not get tired or faint?

She was not the most talkative sort, to say the least. Celica just glanced up on her on occasion and gave her a slight nod now and again, and Palla nodded back. Celica half-expected her to give her a salute and say something akin to ‘_nothing to report’_ like Celica was of high birth—

Celica massaged her temples. Some thoughts were still a bit too uncomfortable to entertain, and instead she tried to provide herself with a plan of attack. Mae had a point about them needing something more pinpointed than ‘_just attack them_’, but Celica was hardly a tactican.

Hours of Celica staring out into the walls of darkness around them went by slowly. The most exciting thing to happen was Mae getting sand in her nose and sneezing in her sleep, right before it was Boey and Genny’s turn to take watch.

They were lucky to have had almost two uneventful weeks, boredom or no. From her attempt at planning a strategy, Celica at least knew that what lay ahead was eventful enough for a lifetime.

\---

Outlined against the horizon, with wide stretched sands to the west and nothing but endless sea to the east, was a fortress polished clean of specks and dust. Like a twisted mirror image of Zofia castle in creation, obsidian linings were halfway there as cornerstones, and there were (really unsafe looking) stilts and ladders leading up to the rooftops which were close to being completely covered in fine red brick.

This was the home of someone who fancied himself the extravagance of a king without regard for those who labored to provide him thus. How far must the brick not have been transported? How many lives had not been lost slaving away at those roofs? How many backs had been broken by this man?

Celica felt ill, but she made a point to look into the faces of both the Pegasus sisters and Atlas and take in their stone-jawed determination and their glossy-eyed fear. She was here on a mission, and she was not leaving until the pirate king lay buried.

She held her sword drawn at her side and glanced back at her little entourage. They’d assembled on a little dune of sand, far enough away not to be risking an arrow to the chest, but close enough to see Grieth’s many, many men assemble on the palisades of the fortress.

This would not be easy, but she’d had one week to prepare some semblance of a battle tactic, and she was confident in herself and her friends. She let her gaze wander over Boey and Leon secured in the front of the saddles of the Pegasus sisters (and while they looked determined as well, they seemed nervous too, which to be fair was Boey’s default), and then back on Valbar and Saber and Genny. And Mae, rolling her shoulders and jogging in place.

They wouldn’t fail.

“Are you ready to put this plan into action?” she asked, tying her hair back with one hand while not letting her eyes off her friends.

“Readier than ya’ could ever imagine”, Jesse hooted and pushed his way between Atlas and Boey with sword and shield raised and pointed at whomever he referred to for emphasis. “Let’s go save _these_ ladies’ beautiful sister, and _this _beautiful man’s brothers!” 

Atlas put an arm around his shoulders in half a hug (the best one can do when the other is sporting weapons and doesn’t hesitate to wave them around), and Catria gave a stiff nod of agreement.

“Man, feels right on to have some backup this time, I tell ya!” Jesse chuckled. “Onward on ya mark, lady priestess!”

“All right, then”, Celica said with her most courageous smile, her hair tied back and her sword and magic ready. “Let’s go, everyone!”

Palla and Catria shot out from either side of her and disappeared far up and behind them, taking the long way around. Celica could see how both Boey and Leon clung onto the mane of the pegaus for dear life, and Celica sent a silent prayer that Mila wouldn’t let them fall down.

Mae cracked her knuckles and with a wide swing of her arm, she hoisted what was effectively a flaming shield above their heads, granting Celica and the rest of the ground units some security as they charged forwards.

The shield was clear as a banner, but better protection than nothing once the arrows came flying. The rest of the entourage held whatever could pass as a shield over their heads – metal scrap, discarded wooden shields from the other fortresses, leather shields from Robinsville – and they kept charging until they were out of breath.

The first rain of arrows didn’t even reach them. The second got turned to dust as they flew through the flame shield, and the third drummed down on the cursing back lines (the blacksmith’s daughter Elaine had quite a foul mouth, but Celica had honestly heard worse coming from Mae as a teenager). And it was here, in front of the thrice-barred gate to Grieth’s fortress, that Celica begun to doubt her plan. They were there too early, they’d get tired and slip up and someone would die—why did she think she could perform a _siege_ with nothing but sixteen people?

Mae searched for her hand, and Celica took it. She could feel the core of fire magic pulsate within her friend – Mae was more attuned to lightning, but she had mastered fire well enough to shield them and save Celica’s power. But she wasn’t used to the fickleness of flames – would she be exhausted soon? Would her shield falter and allow for an arrow to pierce through and hit her in the chest—?

The thought of someone quieting Mae’s beautiful, excited voice forever was an unbearable one. The plan had been to simply wait for the Pegasus sisters granting them an opening, but to Duma’s depths with the plan! Celica needed to make sure to at least engage the pirates enough for them not to bother turning around and realizing there would be a ram of Macedonans breaking at them from within.

She let go of Mae’s hand.

“Grieth!” Celica shouted and stepped up beside the flame shield for a brief moment, her own magic ready to burst out if she heard a bowstring release. “If you know what’s good for you, surrender now, before the Mother smites you!”

So much for promising to leave the dramatics to Mae. That Grieth was among the men on the palisade was just a guess, but a correct one. No one else could fit the description of the one that leaned with his pale jewel-adorned arms resting on one of the crenulations.

He was in his forties, with hair like the sand around him, and a piercing blue cloak lined with gems that sparkled in the sun. He radiated a certain kind of strength, one that made everyone around him seem small. Celica’s mouth dried out a little, like she was eleven years old again and standing in front of Slayde again, but she wouldn’t step away. Never.

“How kind of you”, Grieth boomed, to scattered chuckles from those around him. “Say, I’ll return the favor! Surrender now, and you’ll live – at least for _longer_, considering Desaix is out for your head, _princess_.”

A part of Celica insisted, just for a moment, to hear ‘_priestess_’, but she knew that hadn’t been right.

That hadn’t been right.

She instinctively put her hand over her wrist in an attempt to make sure that it was hidden. She felt like she’d punched the air out of her. She had no time to gape, no time to draw for breath, no time to listen to the surprised shuffles behind her.

“Lovely of you to spare me the effort of hunting you down myself”, Grieth continued. “You’re valuable enough to buy me everything this side of the mountains – as if I don’t own it already.”

“You’ve no idea what you’re talking about!” Mae shrieked, peering up at Grieth from below her flame shield. “You’re just a sad old man who’s gonna die, and you wouldn’t know a _princess_ if you saw one, you uncultured bug!"

Grieth snarled and narrowed his eyes at her. “You speak to a _king_, you disgusting worm food.”

Even now, even at the threat of having arrows dig into her, Mae stood firm. She had once introduced herself as the best at keeping secrets, and once when they were fifteen Mae had solemnly proclaimed that she’d ‘_totally _die’ for Celica’s secret to be kept—but why die for something so useless, really? What did it matter if everyone knew? The world was already in chaos, and Desaix had evidently already added the priestess and lost princess together, so why _bother_? Right now they needed to survive, keep these dastards busy.

“You’re no more king than my father was”, Celica bellowed up toward Grieth, a shout right from her belly with all the anger she’d kept inside her. “A greedy, evil man who thinks he can trade people like possessions, get whatever you point at even if they’re a _Mila’s-damned person_, and you’ll die just like him – pathetic and hated!”

She drew a deep breath. She could tell Grieth wasn’t going to let her talk for much longer, and her belly swirled. _Come on, come on_—

“I am Anthiese of Eiviga’s line, and I will show you the strength of Mila’s favor!”

_Now,_ she thought as she ignited the fire in her palm._ NownownowNOW—_

There was a deafening crash as three people rained down on each side of Celica, and she could hear Catria yell ‘_that’s for my sister you BASTARDS’_, and that was all the cue Celica needed. She released her entire being into one flame spell, and the gate crumbled before her.

That one spell nearly drained her entirely, but she did not sway. She rushed inside, the others right behind her.

Celica had boarded a few pirate ships on her way from Novis, used their bordering planks to cross on her own and push them into the water. They’d looked so surprised, every single one of them. Why would a priestess be on the offensive? Celica didn’t have much time to decipher the faces of those she encountered now, but their shouts were clue enough. She had taken them by surprise this time too.

She had no more flame in her, but she could use her sword to defend herself while Boey’s fire sliced through the edges of her vision. Boey and Leon had, as was the plan, been dropped off on the rear palisades of the fortress and taken on the scarcer guards while the Pegasus sisters had continued on to incapacitate the frontline archers from behind. Maybe this had been more luck than skill to have worked, or maybe Grieth had underestimated her. If so, it was a mistake he would not repeat.

Grieth howled a few orders from on top of the wall, then grew silent as he swung his axe toward Catria. She dodged and jammed a javelin into his breastplate, and Grieth in turn ran down the stairs to avoid the flurry of javelins and Pegasus feathers. Celica looked away to parry the strike form one of his henchmen. This fight was far from over yet, and she could not lose focus.

It was the first time Celica had drawn herself completely empty of her magic before the battle even started, and relying solely on her friends and her sword to survive was quite different from what she was used to, but she trusted in both. Even here, surrounded by blood and harsh desolation, she felt Mila’s warmth surge through the ground. It was fickle and weak, but to Celica, it was a strengthening reminder that Mila was there with her.

The number of pirates diminished enough for Celica to stand waiting in the center of the fortress, breathing hard. She looked over her shoulder to find her next opponent, and the next thing she knew was the swish of an axe toward her head.

She barely had enough time to duck and turn around before the sword in Grieth’s other hand struck toward her, and she parried with her wrist in a weird angle. It saved her life, but her own sword clattered to the ground. She backed away, her feet sliding on the uneven surface.

“Desaix may want your head fresh”, Grieth hissed at her as he stepped down on her sword. “But I don’t care if it rots on the way, I’ll lop it off right here and now!”

She couldn’t remember when she’d gotten separated from Mae, but she wasn’t there. In overwhelming panic, Celica saw nothing but her own reflection in the glint of an axe’s edge.

Mae was not there, no, but Atlas was. And he tackled into Grieth with his full weight, something that took Celica a few more heartbeats to process. The two men were even in size, and Grieth didn’t budge - he only swung his sword around and drove it through Atlas’ belly like he’d dispose of an annoying fly.

“Got your sword”, Atlas coughed shakily and grabbed Grieth’s wrist with one hand and his chest with the other. They weren’t going to win like that, but Atlas was buying her time. Celica grasped for her sword, tugged at it, but Grieth’s foot didn’t move an inch.

“You’re weak”, he hissed. “And the weak belong to _me_.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, dirtstain!”

Celica had no idea whom the voice belonged to, but she wouldn’t soon forget, because whoever this was bashed Grieth’s face in with a rock, the sheer force reminiscent of a catapult. She had hair to her shoulders that shone of a brighter pink than even Mae’s, her face round and innocent except for the blood that stained her chin.

“I’m _so _sick of your ugly mug”, the stranger yelled and repeated her strike with the rock, completely unafraid of axe and sword and battlefield alike. “I’m a _Whitewing_, and I _don’t_—_belong_—_to_ _you_! Take that, you gross overgrown _cockroach_!”

She looked furious, but at the same time, as she backed away before Greith could retaliate, she also seemed oddly thrilled. A smile spread over her face, and to Celica it seemed jarring but not out of place.

“Yeah! Come on, Irma, give him some! He’s all yours!”

Celica had almost forgotten her sword as she glanced to the right of her, where a small assembly of three people stood in a doorway to the fortress, one of which carried a dirty priestess garb and hesitantly raised her staff to the heavens.

“Mila forgive me”, the priestess mumbled before a small spark of light magic shot in an arc toward Grieth and fizzled uselessly down into the ground.

“Hey, good try!” the bright-haired stranger yelled encouragingly. “All right, my turn!”

Grieth clearly hesitated on where to put his focus – if he stepped away from Celica’s sword he’d lose his advantage over her, but turning his back to this wild stranger was not something one did and lived, Celica could tell. In Grieth’s eyes she didn’t see _fear_, exactly, but beneath the disdain was a man trying to turn a battle in his favor with his men being plucked one by one, his sword driven through a man that refused to let go of his wrist, and a fearless girl that radiated confidence armed with nothing but a rock.

Celica searched within herself for any shred of magic to use, but those wells were still dry. Her wrist pulsated with pain and she could hardly breathe. She dared a look out over the unfinished castle – she and Atlas had backed themselves into a corner somehow, sheltered by pillars and hidden from view. It was just a matter of time before someone else out of Celica’s people would discover their little corner, but she feared what would transpire before then. Grieth did not exactly look like a beaten man. He had finally decided on how he should retaliate.

He let go of the sword in his left hand, and Atlas knelt down on the ground with a hard exhale. Grieth then aimed a kick for Celica’s head (she managed to shield herself with her arms, but she still inhaled grains of sand from the shock and pain), and immediately after aimed his axe toward the bright-haired stranger with a rock.

Though the stranger stepped away, light as a feather, and huffed with her rock in a firm grip. “Oh, you’re _so _asking for it!”

Before anyone else could make another move, violet lightning crackled into Grieth’s chest, and he stumbled backwards.

“Whooooo!” the bright-haired one cheered. “Sonya in the house! Nice one!” Without missing a beat, the bright-haired stranger grabbed Grieth’s axe with a tackle that looked almost playful, and effectively disarmed him. She put the axe over her head and yelled in victory.

“PRISON BREAK! Reb-uh-lli-oooon! Yeah!”

Celica’s sword was free, and although her head and body throbbed with pain, she got up on her feet again. Her first instinct was to call for Genny, and so she did. Atlas wasn’t bleeding overly much, but he didn’t exactly look _well_, either.

Celica’s second instinct was to call for Mae, because she was feeling dizzy and had almost died and needed her friend. She needed someone to make sense of all this – four people that had just appeared out of nowhere to save her life and Grieth, who had looked so menacing before, lay befuddled and contorted in lightning-induced agony.

One of the surprising additions from the doorway stepped up towards Grieth. She had violet lightning crawling down her arm, and she gave him a fatal smile.

“Sonya”, Grieth gasped through clenched teeth. “You traitorous witch—!”

“Now now”, Sonya purred at him. “_Treason _implies I was loyal to you to begin with, Grieth. Also, you made me jailer, which is _clearly _beneath me and I was lucky the jailed lot was actually engaging to converse with.”

The bright-haired stranger preened a little at that, and Sonya’s smile softened.

“It’s nothing personal, Grieth. I’m simply an excellent judge of character, and you are no longer my greatest hope for standing against my father. If _these _people beat you, they’re obviously better equipped, no?”

“You haven’t _beaten_ me”, Grieth frizzled.

The bright-haired one tutted and swung his axe up on her shoulder with ease. It was only then Celica realized who she had to be.

“Aw come on”, Est said. “I haven’t killed you yet because I’m polite! My friends deserved a strike or two too, so I just figured it’d be decent. Not that _you’d _know decency! Sure, you put me in a dungeon and stuff, but one of your guys stabbed my husband, and that’s _un-for-givable_!”

Sonya nodded once. “The young woman is quite correct. You’re far more trouble than you’re worth, and you won’t be missed, Grieth.”

The so-called pirate king was surrounded by people ready and able to kill him, but he wasn’t one to go down in surrender. He lunged for Sonya, whose retaliation was quick and without mercy. Celica had never seen magic quite like hers – it left a putrid smell in the air, electrifying and powerful, like the hearth of a smithy in the middle of a thunderstorm.

Despite herself, Celica sent a prayer to Mila. It was her duty to, after all, and this battlefield was full of death. As wisps of smoke slithered around Grieth’s remains, there was a strange lump in her chest and praying to Mila made her feel at the very least somewhat like this was nothing out of the ordinary.

They had been _necessary deaths_, a matter of defending the weak, but that didn’t make the lump in her chest any less heavy. Celica tried to control her breathing and find Mae in the settling dust around them, but saw no trace of her.

The priestess with the dirty garb, on the other hand – the priestess that had been a prisoner alongside Est – hovered closer and closer to Celica, staring at her with wide eyes that would have made Celica uncomfortable if it wasn’t for the many other things that was much more pressing. There had been a fourth of these strangers that had emerged from the fortress – just a boy, and he’d now knelt beside Atlas.

“Hey, Alv”, Atlas panted and laughed. “Oh, thank Mila, you’re all right—Where are the other boys?"

“They’re hiding back in the cell”, Alv answered. “I didn’t want them to fight and get hurt.”

“Makes sense”, Atlas said and patted his little brother on the shoulder. “But you can fetch them. I’ll be right as rain when you get back – we have a really good healer.”

As if on cue, Genny appeared from one of the hallways, and the world moved in a haze of movement and voices.

Celica simply tried to calm her racing heart, to realize that they must have won, but they’d have to have lost something to gain this, wasn’t that just the way of things—and what if it was Mae, or Boey, or—

One of the last pirates must have attempted a sneak attack, as he yelled and darted out from a window above, daggers ready. He landed beside Est, who nicked a brow and fastened the grip on her axe, but she got no further before the pirate was felled by a well-placed javelin from above.

“I had that one”, Est said, indignant at first, but then as she turned around, she interrupted herself with a choked gasp and threw the axe aside.

The response she got was just as wordless. Catria crossed the distance between them with a dismount and steps that were more like lunges, then she lifted Est straight off the ground. Est hugged her back with a delighted laugh.

“I knew it!” she yelled. “I knew you’d come!”

Catria didn’t answer (because she was crying, but Celica pretended not to notice), and the next one to sail down into their little corner of the fortress was Palla, who dismounted with just a small smile. To some that would have looked like she wasn’t very happy at all, but the change was transformative compared to what Palla had been like before. The deep frown and hard gaze had disappeared and been replaced by a soft glow as she walked over and placed a hand on Est’s shoulder.

“You’re all right now, Potato Pie”, Palla said, and that had Est break down completely and pull Palla into the hug like a sobbing boulder.

“I was so _scaaared_”, Est wailed into Palla’s bloodied cloak.

Catria didn’t let go, but she pulled her face away to dry her eyes. “Yeah right”, she muttered. “Weren’t you the one yelling about prison break just now?”

“C’mon Catria”, Est cried and hugged her tighter. “Let me be a little kid for once!“

“All right, nineteen-year-old baby”, Catria answered, but there was not much energy behind her teasing. “Gods, I’ve missed you.”

“I missed you _more_”, Est hiccupped. “But I knew you’d come!”

“Of course we would”, Palla said and stroked her head. “But we couldn’t have done it alone.”

Palla straightened, her arms still around her sisters, and she looked right at Celica. There was a myriad of emotions in that one gaze.

“Hey, me neither!” Est turned her head and grinned at Sonya. “Sonya opened the locks!”

Sonya wrinkled her nose, as if wanting to argue that one doesn’t technically _open_ locks, but then she looked back on Celica and Atlas, who was struggling to get up to sitting with Genny’s help.

“Grieth’s order was to kill anyone unwilling to fight”, Sonya shrugged. “Including the prisoners, but that seemed like a terrible waste of magic to perform for the losing side. Well, ultimately it is I who decide what side wins or loses, but I decided to side with you. No need to thank me.”

“You’re not short on confidence”, Celica said, which was an odd first thing to say to someone, but her brain was still jarred and she hardly prioritized proper etiquette.

“No, dear”, Sonya smiled at her. “What would be the use in that?”

Celica wasn’t sure what to make of Sonya. The woman was draped in a fine mage’s robe, not too different from Mae’s, but she carried herself much differently. Celica had needed only one look at her to find the word – _sharp_. Even when she leaned relaxed on her hip, her eyes were like daggers. There was something so un-Mila-like about her, a thought Celica didn’t dare entertain.

“Oi”, Jesse called out, panting and sword pointed and ready. “Lady! I know you! You threw me headfirst into a dungeon!”

“Mm?” Sonya raised a brow. “No, sorry, I don’t remember you.”

“That’s absurd—” Jesse’s eyes darted away for just a second, and they set on Est. “Oh, _hello_ there, sunset lady! Nice to see you whole and hearty—”

Jesse then just as suddenly interrupted himself again as his gaze wandered on to Atlas (Celica hadn’t known this man for long, but she’d soon learned how notoriously easily his mind changed tracks).

“Wait, Atlas? What happened to you?”

“Sword”, Atlas answered simply, which Jesse evidently did not find as dismissable, seeing as he immediately knelt down beside Atlas to support him.

Celica had imagined herself to stand alone and victorious once Grieth was dead, but now there were a dozen conversations around her, a buzz of reunion and battle banter and she was alone with her thoughts for a few moments.

A deep part of her insisted that her friends acted so casually around her because they hadn’t heard Celica yell her true name, but she knew that couldn’t be.

She was Anthiese, assumed dead princess of Zofia, and they all knew, but it didn’t change this moment for them. They’d won, and they were all equals in the aftermath of battle.

She could have tried to ignore this, and bury her name deep inside her like before, but she no longer wanted to. She’d planned to make this reveal to Mila and Mila alone, but plans changed.

Mae joined her side, carried over by leaning on Boey with a scarf as a bandage over her head. She grinned and gave Celica a thumbs up, but the hollowness of her cheeks told Celica she was even worse hit by magic exhaustion than even Celica was. But she was alive, and everyone else soon followed. Valbar got so caught in the moment, seeing Grieth dead, that he stepped up on a cargo barrel and gave a speech and ended up weeping over how his family could finally truly rest in piece.

It was a beautiful chaos, a chaos that only came out of survival, but someone had to bring it to order. And that someone was Celica. She put a gentle hand on Valbar’s knee, and he stepped down from the barrel and let her step up and face her companions. She still held her sword, not yet ready to let go of it.

“Everyone”, she called out, and Mae did a hushing gesture so sharp it had everyone pay attention. “We haven’t won yet! We need to make sure this place is secured, the injured stay here and the rest of you move in groups of three to comb through this fortress! And then we’ll meet, in…”

She hesitated for just a moment, which had Sonya smile and raise her hand – it was just to be polite, because she was speaking anyway. “…There’s a grand hall just inside the main entrance.”

“Sounds good”, Celica nodded gratefully. “We’ll meet there!”

\---

Celica felt guilty for cutting their celebrations short, but on the other hand, once they’d all assembled in Grieth’s grand hall and freed slaves had popped up from all corners of the fortress, she understood the necessity of it. They needed someplace to land safely and process this.

The priestess that had risen from the dungeons along with Est had suddenly put a hand on her shoulder and smiled like she’d known Celica forever. The familiarity was unsettling, to say the least.

“I’m sorry for startling you”, the priestess Irma said. “You just look so much like your mother, princess Anthiese.”

Mae may have been half-dead by exhaustion, but she still glared daggers at the priestess from her place by Celica’s side. Boey stood by the doorway, one hand on the doorframe and a nervous glance on the priestess. They were used to being the only ones knowing, and it couldn’t be easy to let old habits die.

Celica cleared her throat. “My… mother? Did you know her?”

Irma closed her eyes. She had wrinkles around her eyes and her hair had specks of grey. She could very well have been Celica’s mother’s age.

“She was my dearest friend”, Irma said. “Our time at Mila’s temple was the happiest of my life. After King Lima took her away, I only saw her once more, on her deathbed. With you.” Irma opened her eyes and gave her a sorrowful smile. “Being a wife to the king caused her so much grief, her body gave in, but it was clear that you were her light in that world. She loved you very much, and she’d be proud if she saw you now.”

It was a bit much to hear such things from a complete stranger, and Celica’s throat grew thick. Princess Anthiese had been born from a loveless, one-sided marriage and cast aside, and for all the world knew or cared she’d burned with the rest of the king’s children. Speaking to Irma somehow made those memories painfully clear. But in a way, that only worked to reinforce the loose ideas in her mind.

“Thank you”, she said stiffly to Irma. “I’d love to speak to you further, at a later time.”

She walked over to the head end of the grand hall’s table, and stood on the cushions of Grieth’s chair that looked an awful lot like a throne.

She wasn’t a war-commander. She wouldn’t rise her sword over her head and yell ‘_victory is ours!_’, instead she walked into the comfortable role of a priestess. She sheathed her weapon as her companions in arms quieted down and watched her, and she clasped her hands and bowed her head.

“Thank you for your courage”, she began, her voice clear. “The great pirate threat of Zofia is gone, and it is all thanks to you that we can begin to look our Mother in the eye again. I want you to know I will not forget this, for as long as I live. Thank you.”

The room stayed silent in the same respectful way as it would in a priory or temple when service was in session. There was no hesitation or questions in the gazes that looked upon her – to them it didn’t seem to matter who she was born as, because they knew her the way she was now. A priestess and a warrior. But they deserved to know.

“I believe I owe you all an explanation”, she said and looked up at them, pulling the sleeve back on her left wrist. “I am princess Anthiese of Zofia, twelfth and last living child of king Lima.”

She ignited the mark on her wrist, and the emblem of Mila, branded on her skin since birth, was clear for all to see.

“And I will return Mila’s favor to our kingdom. Once the Mother learns that her chosen line hasn’t ended, and that I will set everything right that my father and his court did wrong, she’ll have mercy on us. This is the reason I’ve made the temple of Mila my mission, and I will not rest until I’ve seen it done.”

The silence was still, but the faces in front of her looked more stunned than reverent. The ones that had been with Celica by the gate nodded to themselves or brushed their chins as if thinking ‘_yeah, that’s a bit to process, but it’s fine_’. The Archanean sisters looked to one another, Est whispered something and Catria shrugged. The ones that looked the most confused were the other former prisoners, and Celica could overhear Atlas’ youngest brother ask ‘_isn’t a princess like a KING? Why’s there a king here with US?_’.

She extinguished her mark, waited it out. She met Mae’s gaze, and her little smile was all she needed to feel brave.

“It would seem that the usurper Desaix knows of me”, she continued. “I don’t know how much it matters to keep me out of his hands, but for what it’s worth, I still want you to call me Celica.”

She watched the Pegasus sisters for a moment. They looked so complete, so relieved to have found what they came for. They’d be going home, no doubt. Most people in this hall would, she realized.

“When our paths split, I’d ask the same of you. Refer to me as a priestess, and nothing more.” She clasped her hands again and smiled wide. “Once again, I thank you all. Go, with the Mother’s blessing.”

She stepped down from the cushions. Public speaking had never been a problem for her, but now her cheeks felt hot and her legs a bit weird. Maybe reality was catching up. She breathed through her nose and listened to the mumble of voices in the hall.

She didn’t look forward to saying goodbye, but all things come to an end. Her pirate-slaying days were over, everyone else had places to go – she didn’t expect to have anyone other than Saber, Genny, Boey and Mae with her to the Temple of Mila.

An expectation that shattered within the first minute of her speech, as Valbar reached out a hand to stop her.

“Do you need company on your way up north?” he asked, his back straight but his face a bit crumpled up, like he was holding back tears. “My home will be empty and I don’t want to go back just yet, if that’s all right with you.”

Celica raised her brows and glanced behind him, where Leon was adjusting his forelocks and Kamui stretched his arms to the sky. They weren’t the most passionate sort, besides that Leon cared intensely for Valbar and Kamui enjoyed to point out and sketch landmarks they passed by, so Celica wasn’t sure if she should ask them if they wanted to stay too.

“I go where Valbar goes”, Leon clarified. “We’re a package deal. As long as he’ll have me, of course.”

Kamui nodded in agreement. “Yeah, I mean, I just want to see the world and hang out with my friends. If that means walking to a temple or two, I can do it.”

“I’d love the company”, Celica said, and she could not walk more than a few more steps before Sonya’s sharp gaze cut her off.

“Hold up, priestess”, she said with an annoyed glare. “What is the meaning of this? You have a crowd stronger than Grieth’s, and you _disband_ them?”

“Yes”, Celica answered. “I have no interest in leading an army. Once I’ve reconciled with Mila, there will be no more need of one.”

“Hm”, Sonya said disapprovingly. “That complicates things. I have a few bones to pick with certain powerful people, and I’d hoped our interests would align… Ah, well. I suppose helping a princess out isn’t beneath me.”

With that, Sonya lifted her gaze and disappeared into the crowd. Celica followed her with her eyes, quietly wondering if she’d made an enemy or a friend.

***

They slept in rearranged rooms of the pirate fortress. Celica found a place with four bedrolls, and while it was strange to sleep in the places of people they’d killed, Celica was too tired to care. She had a roof over her head, Mae, Boey and Genny in the same room as her, and finally space to breathe properly.

Once morning came, they all prepared to set out. The pirate fortress was emptied of valuables and food, and soon they all stood in the grand hall again, backpacks and saddlebags full of anything they could carry.

Atlas and his brothers would return home and rebuild what had been. Celica exchanged goodbyes and gratitude with him, but what really stole the show was his brothers saying farewell to Est.

“I’m gonna be a Whitewing when I grow up”, Atlas’ youngest brother said, and Est beamed at him.

“You’ll do great at it, Wil. Just remember to eat your—what was it called, brolli?”

“Broccoli”, Wil giggled. “And I will… taste it. Maybe!”

“Good as it gets, I suppose”, Est shrugged, and turned her attention to the other brothers that pulled at her hands and tried to say goodbye all at the same time.

Jesse was leaving with them. He did look teary-eyed as he too wanted to speak to Est.

“I’m so sorry, Sunset Lady”, he said with a bow. “That I wasn’t able to save you myself!”

Est looked at him in a moment’s confusion, before she snapped her fingers. “Oh, yeah, you’re Beach Guy! No problem, it all turned out good! Man, I swallowed so much seawater that time.”

“I’m honored you remember me”, Jesse smiled. “I have, however, found another place for my heart at the moment, which I hope does not cause ya too much lament.”

“Oh, no I’m all good. I’m married”, Est said and waved what Celica had learned was called a matrimonial medallion. Catria had found it on one of the bandits in the woods, and must have given it back to her.

Jesse grinned. “Lucky person. Well then, a fine end to this story! I wish you well, Sunset Lady, and you too, your highness—or I mean, priestess Celica. Yeah. Nailed it. Fare thee well!”

The pirate fortress got pretty quiet as the people from Robinsville and Atlas and his family left them. And it would be emptier yet.

Celica looked to the Pegasus sisters and smiled at them. “I suppose you’ll take the quickest possible route back to Archanea, now that you’ve found your sister?”

Once again, the three sisters met gazes. Catria arced a brow, and Palla clasped her hands and looked back on Celica.

“We’ve talked this over with one another”, she said. “And it does not feel right as you’ve done so much for us and us just leaving you. Especially not when you mentioned the usurper is out for your head.”

“You could use the protection”, Catria continued. “And it’s not that far to the Mila-temple, right?”

Est beamed (that seemed to be her thing). “You’re not the red-haired princess I _thought _would come with an army to break me out, but I’m not picky! You seem nice, and I like your diadem, and yeah, like Palla said, we owe you. Especially _I _owe you. If you need flying pros, my sisters and I will definitely help!”

Celica had grown used to the comfort of flying scouts, and the fact that these people would stay with her warmed her heart. This was a new step on her journey, and she wouldn’t be as alone as she’d thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> current events are overwhelming, I am here now, however. I am also on twitter @Solrosfalt


	21. Beneath Unfamiliar Stars

Valentia’s constellations were not the same as Archanea’s. That even the sky in its vast and endless unchanging nature could differ so, Palla could not let go of the sensation that this was a world fully separate from her home. A fact that was not nearly as jarring months later, with the sight of these stars familiar to her after many night watches.

Palla had gotten better at stargazing from her many sleepless nights at Macedon castle – while she had used the stars to find her way long before that, it was not the same as to sit in stillness and silence and watch the sky for no ulterior purpose. The stars had been cold and uncaring while she looked up at them, but now they twinkled with warmth as Palla laughed with her sisters while Est pointed out dozens of obscure made-up constellations.

_‘The Spooked Pegasus. The Dancing Tree. The Dragon Doing A Handstand.’_

Catria occasionally chimed in with contributions like ‘_Marth But With a Mustache’_, and_ ‘Student Forgetting Their Books At Home’_, and Est snickered and huddled close and squished between her sisters.

It might be rude of them to close off into their own part of camp together in such a way, but Palla did not believe anyone in their company would mind. And even if they did mind, she would not linger on the thought. She was here with both her sisters safe and sound, the beat of her heart calm for the first time in months, and if that was rude, so be it — no one would get to take this moment away from her.

Palla pointed up into the sky. “That one looks like a hat.”

“A _hat_”, Est shrieked. “You’re _killing _me, Palla, that is the most unimaginative thing I’ve heard!”

Palla merely smiled. She had expected that, but she wanted nothing more than for Est to laugh and feel like everything was as usual. That her big sister was there, that she was safe and they could goof off and speak freely.

They stayed like that for hours into the night. Celica and Valbar had raised the tents and got a fire going and never asked them for help. Palla’s heart warmed from their consideration, but she could not go a whole night without doing anything to provide.

“I’ll take first watch”, she offered and raised her hand, her head turned to look at the camp behind her back.

Est stretched out and rested her head in Palla’s lap, and when Palla looked back, she seemed to be in the middle of falling asleep.

“There aren’t any spiders here, right?” Est mumbled, her eyes closed. “They’re pretty nasty.”

“No spiders, guaranteed!” Catria said and sidled over to lie down in front of Est, like they were children again in one small corner of their mountain cabin. “I’ll keep lookout and keep them away from you.”

“Thanks”, Est answered, her voice slurred. She curled up into a ball, holding Catria’s hand tightly, while Palla stroked her hair.

Her heart was full, for the first time in ages. To yet again only be Palla and nothing more, a big sister taking care of her family. No war, no Macedon, no intrigues or crowns.

_No Minerva_.

Palla buried the thought. She didn’t want to feel her yearning for the other part of her family. She didn’t want to acknowledge the guilt over feeling relieved by the simplicity.

_No Minerva_. If Palla could close her eyes and send one thought over to her, what would it be? _I’m sorry? I love you? I’ll be with you soon, if you still want me? _

The firelight danced behind her back and cast shadows into the open desert. She kept stroking Est’s hair.

When Est was free and their purpose for traveling to Valentia fulfilled, Palla had been the first to hesitate. Catria had been the first to pitch the idea, and Est had been the first to simply say ‘_yeah, makes sense to me!_’ and that was how easy it was to make the choice of staying. Even if she wanted nothing more than the familiar sky of Macedon to once again stretch on above her, she knew that she would not have had much peace of mind if she had turned around already. Celica – _princess _Celica, even – was hunted by an usurper king an dwas vulnerable out on the road. Of course Palla would see that through to the end, see her returned safely. It was the least she could do.

Even if that would mean that more people died to her sword. Minerva had promised herself to never take another life, but Palla could not do the same. She needed to hone her skills, the skills that had kept her and those she loved alive.

Palla had long since stopped shying away from the fear those she killed met her with. There had been a time when she was young and saw her own family every time she ended another’s life, she saw the ripple her actions caused. But then there had always been a flame in her sky, one who she would gladly take that burden for.

A shadow moved beside her. She stiffened before she recognized Saber being the one to scruff about and put his rolled-up blanket beside her before he sat down on top of it.

“We still gotta have two night watchers”, Saber stated. Est stirred beneath Palla’s hand at the sound of his voice, but she did not wake. Palla merely nodded to avoid disturbing Est further, and looked out into the night that grew thicker as clouds swept over the moon.

Saber stared similarly into the vast darkness, leaning with his elbows on his knees. He was still chewing on a piece of edible bark that he’d attempted to eat all evening – or at least the man _claimed_ it was edible, which Palla doubted but she wouldn’t question this continent’s strange preferences for food.

“S’pose I never congratulated ya”, Saber suddenly broke the silence. “In getting your sister back, I mean. Not all are so lucky.”

Palla had not spoken much with the man – she’d barely spoken more than pleasantries and reports with anyone but Genny. There wasn’t that much of a point to it considering she’d soon return home, but she found herself wanting to.

“Thank you”, she began. “I am glad we all made it through, including you.”

“Fair enough”, Saber chuckled into his piece of bark. “But my family wasn’t on the line, unless you wanna count the lass among them.”

‘_The lass_’ was Saber’s connotation for Celica, which had seemed so familiar Palla had assumed they were related in some way – but considering how Celica was royalty and Saber anything but, that seemed unlikely.

“I believed lady Celica to be your niece”, Palla admitted. “But now I assume that isn’t the case?”

Saber snorted a laugh. “You’re a riot, m’lady. Nah, I don’t have anyone except my late ma and pa. No siblings or cousins, nothing. Though I s’pose the lass must be what it is like to have a niece or somethin’. I’d take it bloody personally if anyone harmed her, y’know.” He paused and looked down on Est, and finally gave up on the chewing-bark, flicking it away into the darkness. “I don’t really get the hype about family, to be honest. But havin’ sisters seems like a neat thing, especially if they’re like yours. You’re not likely to be bored, anyhow.”

Palla exhaled a quiet laugh. “Boredom was seldom a problem in my youth, no.”

Est had not been with them for more than a day and had already made an impact. When it had come to light that Saber had released the animals and mounts in the pirate stronghold – to cause mayhem, but his intentions mattered little – Est’s Pegasus Freda had been among them and Est had gone all up into Saber’s face and yelled ‘_thanks! I like your eye-patch!_’ before she outright hugged him.

Palla had apologized on Est’s behalf quite a few times this day alone – which wasn’t unusual, but she hoped to avoid offending anyone too much in the short time they had left.

“An’ here I was bored to death all the time as a kid”, Saber said, and Palla heard the smile in his voice.

“Well”, Palla said, unwilling to get into too much detail but still happy to share some of her fonder memories. “Having sisters was a bit too exciting, at times. We couldn’t ask Est to do laundry when we were younger, because she once nailed the wet clothes to the wall. All our best clothes too, and while I fought to remain calm she had the audacity to ask what the problem was, because that worked just as well as a drying line.”

“Heh”, Saber snorted. “Doesn’t surprise me, if you don’t mind me saying.”

Palla shook her head and stroked her thumb over Est’s forehead. “It was a simpler time, to be upset over such trifles.”

“Simpler times”, Saber repeated with a low, thoughtful huff. “I’m not the prying kind, but…How d’ya get as good at fightin’ as ya are? You lot are younger than me but I wouldn’t pick a fight with either of ya. Ya pack one heck of a punch. I’d like for ya to teach me the secret.”

“You survive a war”, Palla said, turned around and poked a new piece of wood into the fireplace, wisps of ash scattering into the air as she did. “I will not bore you with details, but I can tell you that Grieth was not the first king I’ve seen fall.”

“Yeah, that figures”, Saber muttered. “It’s a learn-by-doin’ thing.”

_Indeed_. Palla had very little guilt to spare over that past. Her eyes were always set on what lay ahead. Her sword clashed with skulls before she lodged her blade free, easy as breathing. When nothing else existed but the screams of battle, there was no room for doubts.

Palla leaned back a little. “And you? How did you get drawn into this sort of mess?”

“Ya’ mean as a lad, or how I got involved with the lass?”

“Both, I suppose.”

Saber grunted and shrugged. “It started with me getting into a lot of fights. Learned I liked ‘em. Learned I was good at ‘em. My pa was a singer, but that just wasn’t what ol’ Mila had in mind for a bloke like me. I started earning my keep by bangin’ on a few heads. And then I was hittin’ the tavern in Novis after my last contractor got sunk by pirates on the way over. They were a problem ‘round those parts before the lass barged into the tavern and asked to hire me. She paid good – and I suppose that figures, bein’ a princess in disguise. Heck, I shoulda’ guessed.”

Palla raked her fingers through the sand. She didn’t regret staying with these people for a while longer, but at the same time, it frightened her that she could not foresee just how great a change she would witness or help create. This was bigger than her search for Est, bigger than the hunt for pirates, even bigger than human lives. They’d walk into the halls of an ancient Divine to _bargain_ with her.

Maybe they were all in over their heads. But she’d made a promise to see this through, to protect Celica for the remainder of her journey. She might as well try to learn what that meant.

“What do you know of Desaix, Saber?”

“Nothin’ much”, he grunted. “I see why you’re askin’, but Zofian politics are a right mess an’ I don’t know half o’ it. He was an advisor to the last king, before he turned on the guy, set fire to where his kids lived an’ then finally stabbed him in the back years later… It’s always the advisors, huh.”

Palla closed her fist, crunched the sand in her palm. She tried to not think too much about the advisors in Macedon and where their daggers could turn in Palla’s absence. Though in trying to _not _think about it, she _did_.

“And now he leads an army?”

“Yep. One that was supported by Rigel and all. That’d be the ones the Deliverance went out to fight. They seemed like a capable lot, but heck, a bit much to handle the bulk of two nations’ military, isn’t it? I’d ask ya not to tell this to the lass, but I thought her a bit of a fool for not joinin’ with the Deliverance lot, cuz’ I wanted to help ‘em. Though now I see why she was so bent on her plans, and I believe she really can turn all this drought and misery ‘round.”

“And I’d say your trust is placed in good hands”, Palla said, even though she knew such trust could be a burden for a leader, too. The expectation to rebuild what was broken, to work as through some miracle… Once the bargaining was done, and Celica faced a future on the throne, would she crumble?

If the strongest person Palla knew had started to crack beneath that pressure, wouldn’t everyone?

_It will be better, soon_. Palla had chosen her words with care, her hands against Minerva’s cheek, kissing her tears away—_It will be better soon_. How could it be that it was so much easier to believe when she spoke it aloud to someone else, but not to herself? Without another pair of arms around her, without promises whispered into her hair, she wasn’t whole. And how utterly pathetic, to sink deeper into this bitterness with her sisters right there.

She enjoyed the simplicity, but she couldn’t’ have peace. Not yet.

“Do you think I could use another one of your paper and quills?” Palla asked. “I’d like to try and send another letter.”

“Papers we have plenty”, Saber answered, and he propped himself up to standing, albeit hesitantly. “Another poor kid to be given a mission to throw an envelope over the sea, then?”

Palla sighed through her nose. “I do not expect miracles, but it will not stop me from hoping for one.”

Her former three attempted letters had all probably been discarded into the sea by the Zofian postal service, and she knew there was no point in trying again, and yet she needed to. Just once more. Just to finally say ‘_I’ll be with you soon_’. To feel the connection again, however briefly.

Saber shrugged. “Well, if it helps ya, I won’t stop ya. Hang on, I’m gonna get you a quill or somethin’.”

Palla’s chest warmed as Saber left. Her hand still rested on Est’s head, the unfamiliar stars twinkling above. She’d follow her letter not long after and leave Valentia for good, but until then, this was her place.


	22. Symbol of Peace

The hours after council were usually not as quiet as they should be, at least not as far as Minerva was concerned.

By all means, she was doing fine, but her life would be much easier were she granted enough time to look and think the council decisions over while it was still fresh in her memory. Unfortunately, interruptions were more common the harder she worked – it seemed like anyone and everyone wanted to capitalize on her moments of productiveness while they could. They expected of her to simply lie down and quit, perhaps. Or at least return to a somewhat slower pace like before.

She would prove them wrong, if so. She had no intention of stopping. While she sat alone by the main desk in the center of the three-sided square of tables, knocks rained on the door every fifteen minutes or so, and she made sure to meet them with all the grace she could muster.

Just in the last hour, Councillor Ida had come inside because she wanted to clarify her points made earlier, the Treasurer Alin had snuck his friend the library master inside so that they could stutter forth a demand for less damp conditions to store important documents, an errand girl had walked in and out to fill up the ink and stared openly at Hauteclere as she did so, and a courier had been shown inside to bring her some urgent letter or other – not from Valentia, so Minerva put it aside hoping she’d remember it after she was done with the urgent matter she was _currently_ occupied with.

All usually quickly over with, but the disruptions always put Minerva’s work to a temporary halt, and she was slow in getting her focus back. But she would not let that stop her. It was nice to be taken more seriously in a way, at least most of the time.

Rucke was unfortunately common as one of those interruptions. To be fair, every interruption was a common one, but what stuck out to Minerva was that he would make a near-habit out of it, and that he would not bow very deeply when he sought her out. Sometimes he didn’t even knock, so that there was a knock on the door right then didn’t bother her as much, seeing as it probably meant it was one of the other options.

“Enter”, Minerva called without looking up, blissfully unaware with her guard down until she heard his voice.

“Good evening, your majesty.”

Minerva’s grip tightened on her quill at the sound, and she glanced up at him from beneath half-closed eyelids. He gave her a dip of his brow before he looked out the window with casual disinterest.

Minerva’s eyes narrowed further. He had grown comfortable in her presence, and that made him bolder by the day.

“Do you have any inquiries?” she asked coldly. The shorter her sentences, the sooner she’d be rid of him.

Rucke shook his head, smiled his special kind of smile meant to disarm. He took the steps required to reach her little desk with confidence and helped himself to a stool that he put right opposite her on the main desk.

“My, not the nicest way to address a friend.” He leaned his elbow on the edge of her desk, without invitation to be at ease.

_Friend_. What a joke. As if a friend would be so disrespectful.

She leaned her own elbow on the other end of the desk, giving it a fair portion of her weight. The desk tipped upward and caused Rucke to be thrown off his relaxed position. A subtle hint, but clear enough.

“Speak then”, she said.

She was being petty, she knew. But on the other hand, she didn’t care for niceties with Rucke. He thrived on idle chatter and absorbed any information he could like a greedy fungus, and through her encounters with Michalis she’d realized the most effective way to handle such people.

Rucke hesitated and rested his hands in his lap instead. His dark blue eyes looked brighter in the light of the candles on Minerva’s desk, alive with the will to speak his mind and be revered for it. She recognized that look well enough, and did not soften as she stared back.

“Well”, Rucke said with a slight clear of his throat. “Your Majesty – please listen to my full suggestion before you give any objection. And know that I merely hold Macedon’s greatest interest at heart.”

Beginning a conversation with a disclaimer was not a good sign, worsened by the fact that he had come give suggestions to her one-on-one rather than during designated council times. Minerva’s fingers dug into her cheek as she kept resting her head in her hand, but she let him continue. Whatever his ideas were, she could always politely discard them later – although he seemed convinced otherwise. He spoke quickly but clearly, his back straight.

“Now, I know that you are not… _invested _in me, just as I am not interested in you, so please don’t misunderstand me here—but seven months have passed and your knight is nowhere to be seen nor heard, and it is time to face the fact that she will not return.”

Minerva grew ice cold. The desk slammed back down as she removed her weight from it.

“I am asking for the opportunity to court you”, Rucke raptly continued. “The burden of the throne lies so heavily on you alone – a marriage between the two of us would relieve you, and Macedon would surely be better off with two official regents in place. One to instill might and respect, which you so clearly do, but one is also needed to do the backbreaking work of councils and decisions. Nothing would change except you’d permit me to take on some of your responsibilities.”

She’d slammed the desk down too soon, and now she had nothing to relieve her form the icy shock. She stared at him, _through _him. She missed her battle fires – she wished that they ignite now, provide her with clarity and strength, but now all she felt was the chill of terror. The cold spread to her tongue, and she could not speak.

She had thought she’d grown stronger and keener at this sort of thing, but right then she was just as useless in the world of words and courts as she’d been before the crown.

“Your Majesty”, Rucke said, with some hesitation shining through. “I can tell that you… ah… you don’t seem keen on the idea, but I ask you to think of my offer thoroughly. The council, just between the two of us, keep saying behind your back that you simply cannot continue being this alone.”

_Alone_. She considered grabbing him by the hair and bashing his face into the wall, for painting over his own ambitions with a pretense to care for her.

Michalis would have poisoned him, or thrown him off the highest tower, or publicly executed him – and that might be the sole reason Minerva held back. This wasn’t a battlefield, and every decision had consequences beyond life and death. She was meant to be a symbol for something greater than herself. She had fought hard for the freedom of expression in her kingdom, and her punishing Rucke would set that fight back too far. He was breaking no laws – he was always sure to stay within the boundaries of her principles – and killing him for being a power-greedy nuisance wasn’t enough to hold up in the trials she herself had designed.

She had to stay within the margins of her principles as well.

“I’ve heard enough”, Minerva said, trying her best to stay polite, but every word was as slow as sludge. “I shall consider your offer. Now leave me be.”

“Thank you – it is an important consideration”, Rucke went on without moving out of his seat, trying to pitch the idea further for her. “It is a dangerous game, to rule. You need allies.“

As if Minerva hadn’t lived and breathed danger her entire life. As if Minerva couldn’t tell an ally from a snake. Her heart was as cold as a winter storm, and she would even consider such for even a moment was unfathomable, and yet Rucke stayed.

He was testing her. Always testing her, pushing and pulling like the tide on a coastline thornbush so that the earth that supported it would erode. Her rage kept beneath a controlled surface, the whispers of Hauteclere crawled through the cold in her chest.

_Death_, it whispered, and it was close enough to her battle fires for her to steel her gaze. Minerva was leading Macedon out of her brother’s shadow, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t draw a line and demand to be left on her own.

“I said leave me _be_”, Minerva repeated, hands on the desk and unyielding gaze digging into him. “That was an _order_.”

Rucke always looked slightly surprised as she put her foot down, but that expression soon merged with the soft and unthreatening civility. He was nothing if not patient, and if he acted on her goodwill he could believe himself to have a chance for her to say yes to his proposal. Which was preposterous, but she did not let any of her thoughts show as she pretended to delve back into her quill and documents.

Rucke’s stool scraped the floor as he stood, slowly, but when she did not look up, she saw him turn, and heard the door close shut.

Only then did she allow herself to put her head in her hands.

\---

It would snow soon, Minerva was sure. Which she didn’t mind – she had always been out training regardless of weather before. And she did not care if she was freezing, anything was better than the stuffy room where Rucke’s proposal now lingered in the air like thick smoke.

She drove Hauteclere clean through training logs. Her left leg was giving her trouble, but she was learning how to bypass it day by day. She would still fly, and she would still allow her body to move. She wouldn’t wither behind her desk.

She could feel eyes on her, all of them at a distance. This was not the only time she felt like they feared her. Rucke was growing bolder, fearlessly attempting to chip away at her, but he was relatively alone in that mindset.

_One to instill might and respect, which you so clearly do_. Minerva’s jaw clenched. She shouldn’t let his words corrode into her, but she hated the way he’d phrased his veiled praise. She had been working every single day since the end of the war to be better at everything that she had never excelled at, and still, fear lingered.

She panted, her body and eyes burning. Her father’s court hadn’t been like this. They’d been his friends, and he hadn’t need for an ancient axe with draconic magic for them to heed him. He hadn’t needed control by terror and threats. Michalis had played that card for seven years, and the scars were still visible from it and yet the whispers did not pass her by. The ones that had been doing just fine under his rule, the ones that thought Minerva was useless – or worse, a reactionary burden hampering Macedon’s growth to glory—

Minerva split another log. As if they _needed _glory! They needed food, roads, homes, pegasi, wyverns, security, purpose… Why was that so much more difficult than warfare? The simplicity of formations shifting freely like leaves in the wind, the knowledge she had allies in people who were kind and trusting and just – it seemed uncomplicated in comparison.

_I don’t miss the war_, she hissed at herself. _I don’t! I can’t!_

_Death_, Hauteclere’s magic rang in her bones, and she stilled. The ancient song was her companion more than anyone else in this cursed castle, and yet now it sounded odd.

What a hypocrite she was, holding on to a memento of power while preaching for all others to shackle their own might. There was reason to doubt her then, of course – no military would mean no hindrance for her and her blade that never dulled.

She stared into her reflection in Hauteclere’s dark edge. She had promised that she would put a stop to Macedon’s strife. And it was time she showed them just how far she was ready to go.

\---

“I didn’t think I’d see you again, sister. What I remember from our last argument, it was not very pretty. Then again, you can never live without getting the last word, so it is to be expected.”

_Hypocrite_, Minerva thought and watched him from the threshold.

Minerva had waited in the hut for half a day. She would have given up and returned for another time, but as she arose from the dining table filled with leather straps for her to help braid, the youngest healer came through the door and told them he’d seen Michalis move from the open window.

There were better ways for Minerva to get information, surely. This wasn’t a good place for her to be, she knew it, but he had cooperated before and if she could just learn what she needed to she was once again free to leave. This wasn’t a visit for her to torment herself – as long as she had a goal, she would be fine.

She stepped inside and stopped by his bedside with her arms crossed.

“I need you to tell me something.”

Michalis’ eyes narrowed at her stepping closer. “And if I refuse?”

Minerva loomed over him, blocking any sunlight from reaching Michalis’ deathly pale face.

“I will gladly hurt you.”

“Go ahead.” Michalis looked to the side, his eyes half-closed in boredom. “I am not afraid of you.”

Minerva’s hand moved to her belt within a heartbeat, and Michalis’ immediate reaction told the truth behind his lie. His eyes widened and his chin twitched away from her.

It wasn’t enough. She drew her knife and dug it down into his pillow with a snap. Right beside his face. Strands of his hair sailed down the fabric and curled around the blade.

Michalis quickly regained his composure, but she could see the side of his throat pulsate.

“You’ve had plenty of chances to kill me”, he murmured. “Don’t bother with such threats. And really, now you’ve just ruined my pillow.”

“I did warn you not to _lie_ to me.” Minerva drew the knife out of the pillow, a few feathers and strings of red hair stuck to the blade as she sheathed it.

“Nearly stabbing me to prove a point?” Michalis chuckled. “How petty.”

“I’ve learned from the best.”

Michalis didn’t dispute that. He glanced on the jack in his pillow, staying silent for a while longer.

“I’ve been thinking about why I keep seeing you here”, he said. “On one hand it is very much like you to barge into things, but on the other, there usually wasn’t a Minerva without a Palla around. Where’s your sweetheart?”

“I’m asking the questions”, Minerva said, her voice thickened with her anger. “Keep prying and I’ll stab you for real.”

“Oh, that’s _not _a good sign.”

“Shut _up_. We’re fine.”

“Yes, obviously. That’s why you look so alone and hopeless. That lady was your bloody shadow before. I’m not a fool, sister. Did she break up with you?”

Of all the things he’d say. This was his way to stay in control, to get under her skin, but she still hated it, hated the way it made her spine crawl.

“I realize you speak from experience”, she answered him with as much composure she could muster. “But that _your_ company left without a word doesn’t mean that mine would.”

“Got me there”, Michalis said with a slight smile. “Not that I cared too much that Lena ran away. She was a clever woman if I ever saw one, and her drive was admirable. Out of my court, I hated her the least. Pity she had to be an idealist like you, though _unlike _you she didn’t care if I threatened her sibling.”

“What is a pity is that your tongue didn’t wither along with the rest of you”, Minerva said.

“And here I thought you came her because you needed me to _tell _you something?” His smile was thick with feigned politeness, but he also seemed... tired. There wasn’t much energy behind his banter, and similarly, there wasn’t much energy within Minerva to feel malice or hatred, either.

_It's just a means to an end_.

“How do I get into the royal treasury?”

“Not what I expected the question to be”, he admitted with a brow raised. “Father never showed you?”

Minerva gritted her teeth. She hated the reminder that her father ever shared his secrets and trusted Michalis when all he’d done to thank him was a knife in his back.

“Once”, she answered him, refusing to be lesser. “He said a magic phrase, and he had a necklace. But I never had the _opportunity_ for him to teach me.”

“Mind if I ask why you want to get in there?”

“I do mind. It’s none of your business.”

“Really. Little sister, why would I help you? What if you plan to lock _me _in there?”

“Thank you for the idea. But no.” She paused, listening to the oddly reassuring whispers of Hauteclere over her back. “I’m going to return the royal treasures. Hauteclere and Iote’s shield both. They’re a legacy used to fight dragons, and that threat has been subdued. They have no business being used.”

“You’re going to take away the only thing that makes the people respect you? Good luck with living to the end of the week!”

“It’s _not _the only reason they respect me!”

“Sure”, he shrugged. “It’s your life. I’ll tell you.”

\---

The castle halls were quiet, which made Hauteclere’s silent whisper in her bones all the louder. The shield of Iote thudded against her back as she walked without a candle, her hand along the walls she knew well enough to find her way blind. Her other hand grasped the amulet Michalis had told her of, hidden in a small tinderbox on his old desk. It looked to be as old as Macedon itself, copper inlay around a limp blue gem shaped like a droplet, with a tethered piece of string keeping it around Minerva’s neck. Not worth looking at more than twice, which made a clever key.

Last time she’d seen it had been in her father’s hands. It felt wrong of her to carry it, but it was not for very long, just as she would not carry the shield of Iote for very long, either.

Her elbow thudded against a windowsill made of stone, and she knew she was in the right place. She stopped and held her breath, listening for anyone in her proximity, before she exhaled and clasped the amulet harder, her hand on the wall.

It would be her first time performing any kind of magic spell, and probably the last. Michalis had said that anyone who knew the right phrase would be able to get the door open, but she did not feel confident at all when she whispered the words. She had never liked the thought of involving herself with literal spells, but Maria could handle them just fine. Minerva should be able to as well, just this once.

There was a glimmer beneath her fingers, and the stone under her hand shifted before it disappeared into thin air.

The compact darkness of the outside was pierced by a dim light, the hidden royal treasury bared before its heir. Minerva had no time to marvel, but she stopped regardless.

It was untouched. Apart from the missing axe and shield, everything was as it had been when Minerva had been shown into this room half a lifetime ago. The painted portraits of ancient rulers, ancestors Minerva had never known. The newest out of the portraits was that of one whose name Minerva recognized as her grandmother's, an empty space of wall where her father’s portrait should have been – or even Michalis’. But there was nothing there. A tradition halted by war and betrayal.

She stepped up toward the empty rack in the center of the room, where Hauteclere had rested for more than a century before Minerva’s hand had touched it. Her skills had developed with this axe in mind ever since, her body was attuned to its lack of weight and its unyielding sharpness – she did not know what she would be without it.

But she knew what she was _with _it, and that she did not want. Not anymore.

The whispers lingered with her when she gently tipped Hauteclere and placed it onto the rack again. Wordless and incomprehensible, but so familiar. She walked toward the innermost wall, Iote’s shield in her hands.

Its place was directly below the thousand-year-old painting of Iote himself, and she hesitated to meet his gaze.

She liked to think that he would have done the same as her, but she didn’t know. The legends surrounding him might have been corrupted with age and they might all be wrong – perhaps he would have preferred Michalis’ way of rule. She would never know, and should not let her mind be occupied by the thought – but a childish part of her still wanted his approval. Someone telling her that she wasn’t making a terrible mistake.

She kept regarding Iote in silence. His hair was as long and lustrous as Michalis’, his jaw and brow like Minerva’s – but his smile was that of Maria. Gentle and inviting, with his eyes bright like molten iron. Identical eyes looked down on her now from every other direction, the only exception being the portrait directly to the right of Iote’s. That was a woman with deep dark brown eyes and radiant curls around her circlet of gold, with a smile that was much more daring than Iote’s.

_Agathae_. The first Pegasus tamer, the first queen of Macedon, a warrior and a wife. Over her back rested Hauteclere, and it looked so effortless. Minerva was not used to feeling small, but before this many eyes of her ancestors, there was a pressure around her that made her shrink. She did not feel worthy of their presence, but regardless she kept her back straight as she hung Iote’s shield back on the wall.

She was a queen. As much as she cared about honoring their history or legacy, she cared more for the people she ruled right here and now, and they should not have to fear her.

Her hands and back felt empty without Macedon’s royal weapons, but she clenched her fists tightly as she backed out of the room.

_Death_, Hauteclere whispered to her, indifferently like always, but Minerva shook her head.

“No”, she retorted, just as indifferently. “No more.”

She did not unclench her hands until her back hit into the wall of the hallway outside the room. Then she put her fingers over the amulet, and spoke the words.

In one moment, she was there among her ancestors, with the ringing of draconic magic still in her ears. In the next, she was once again enclosed in the darkness of night.

The silence was thick as oil, but it did not frighten her.


	23. Means to an End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> around this time i posted the first chapters of Princess of Dawn, so as a birthday celebration, why not a massive update? stay safe out there <3

It took the people of Caste Macedon a while to notice.

Servants cocked their brows but didn’t comment. Dress masters still suggested straps for a battleaxe to go with her outfits. The nobles simply greeted her as usual. Perhaps they all believed Minerva would return the next meeting with Hauteclere over her back.

Minerva played along. Giving them time to adapt wouldn’t hurt. Divines knew she needed time, too.

Hauteclere was gone. She refused to cry over a weapon, but it was still difficult to handle the silence.

Although her chest felt a little bit lighter, too. Ancient whispers did not drive her, _she_ did. For the following weeks, she walked with her back straighter than ever, free of the hypocrisy.

She did keep a knife in her belt though. That was just common courtesy. Not that she didn’t trust the guards to do their jobs, but it was a true reassurance to feel its presence whenever Rucke approached her.

He always looked upon her expectantly, as though hoping she’d bring up his proposal and give him news on the matter. Thankfully, he was smart enough to not revive the conversation himself, and he kept shining on her good sides, spouting polite charms, and unsurprisingly, in one of his long buttery banters, he was the first to ask explicitly ask her about Hauteclere.

“That axe is gone forever”, Minerva answered. “There will be no more wars for Macedon, and no more need of either Agathae’s or Iote’s battle-blessings.”

“You... Destroyed them?” Rucke gasped, dropping his smooth act for the duration of a breath. “That’s… impossible, isn’t it?”

Minerva thought it best not to answer honestly—because it _was _impossible. But indestructible didn’t mean it couldn’t be forgotten. The inconspicuous-looking jewel that opened the royal vault was hidden among many more necklaces of similar age and discretion, and now Minerva and Michalis were the only ones alive who knew about it.

“They’re gone”, Minerva repeated.

“I… I see.” Rucke blinked, still stunned, then cleared his throat and smoothed his sleeves. “Did you not think to consult us on the matter?”

“The royal treasures are of royal concern”, Minerva answered politely. “So, no.”

She could tell Rucke hated it, but he made a great effort in pretending not to. He bowed and left abruptly, would not test her further, which was a great relief. She’d rather not hear his voice at all, echoing words back at her she’d rather forget.

What a strange world it would have been if she considered accepting his proposal. He must know she’d say no, so there had to be something else at play. He’d implied she wasn't competent enough for this, spoken under the guise of mutual gain—and it was far from the worst he'd said.

_Your knight isn’t coming back_. Words that pried at Minerva's open wounds and etched themselves into her every waking moment. In her dreams as well; a recurring theme was Minerva spotting Palla in a forest home with a rake in her hands and a straw hat on her head, laughing delightfully together with a brown-haired, nameless woman.

They looked happy. _She _looked happy. If these dreams somehow were visions of reality, Minerva would not pry. If Palla wasn’t coming back, that choice was hers entirely to make. And if... If her absence _wasn’t_ a choice... The world would forever be a darker place.

Yet Minerva’s faith remained. The uncertainty was the worst of it. It was impossible to grow accustomed to, even though she’d grown accustomed to the loneliness.

One day, when Macedon had stabilized enough for Minerva to leave, she’d seek Valentia out for herself. If she got an answer, perhaps her heart could rest easier. To stop missing Palla wasn’t an option, but to accept it, and to endure whatever heartbreak surely awaited her… that _was_ an option, and one she’d rather take.

And yet Minerva’s heart jumped every time she saw the courier. Still.

He walked towards her with two layers on his knitted cap, leaving a trail of snow from his boots. He met her gaze, and without a word, he handed her a small pile of letters, tied together with a dirty piece of string. It wasn’t procedure to take letters from him directly, but Minerva had insisted whenever there was a letter from Khadein or Valentia, it be brought to her immediately. She did not believe her fellow castle dwellers would pry open her letters without her knowing about it, but she’d rather Maria’s words didn’t pass through anyone else. Or Palla’s, for that matter. Minerva realized the fruitlessness of her hope, but she did not try to fight the pathetic optimism that awakened when a letter was placed in her hands. And all she did was nod and thank the courier, watched him go.

When she returned to her quarters, she was still clutching a letter from Maria in her hands, her face turned to the reinforced windows. She let the lights dance upon the ink of the envelope, before she finally opened it.

_Minerva_

_I’m sorry for the lack of detail in my letters, of late. I like university life, I like my friends and my teachers and I’m running out of things to tell._

_Every day, I pray to the gods for one of your letters to arrive with news. You really haven’t heard anything?_

_I wish there was more information at hand about Valentia. I guess the only way to really know is to go there. You know, I asked Merric to send a letter to Darros (which is apparently half-impossible, him being on the sea himself so much) asking if it really is possible to cross the western sea._

_He answered! He said “not unless your ready to die”. I quote him directly. Apparently, sailors wou ld s t arve (I’m sorry for the smudge! I didn’t cry, I just spilled some of my water!) if they tried with the boats we got now. Three weeks out on the sea and the ocean turns on you. Really harsh waters out there… But flying is easier and faster, right? And Marth’s ship returned? They HAVE to be all right, right?_

_Gods I’m so sorry for just making everything worse. I’m very worried. I wish you were here. Everything seems so much easier when you are with me._

_Please, tell me all about Macedon! How are you doing on your own? How is our Sleeping Eagle? Have you been to see him any more times?_

_Many tight hugs  
Maria_

Minerva put the letter on the windowsill and walked over to the desk to fetch a quill and paper. Words came easier to her these days. Her head was clearer. If it was due to being without Hauteclere, or that her life slowly was becoming the new normal, or that she wasn’t as afraid anymore—Minerva didn’t know. Nor did she care. She’d spend that clarity trying to reassure her little sister, like she always had.

_Maria_

_Generally, I am doing fine on my own. I’m learning. I think you’d be proud of me, and Palla would be too._

_There are days I miss you both so much I feel like I’m going to burst. But hearing that you are feeling at home in Khadein gladdens me so. Though I agree. Things are easier with sisters around, right?_

_Rucke asked me to marry him a week ago. Sorry that I didn’t write that down in my last letter, I think it just finally sunk in. I never really said no, but I was moments away from breaking his face. He hasn’t brought it up since, he’s just waiting for me to step up to him. I hope I have the restraint not to hurl him out the highest window if he loses patience and asks again._

_He might mean well, but I doubt it. I find the Sleeping Eagle’s presence to be more bearable in comparison. That tells me something._

_Leading off that – yes, I have indeed visited him again. Out of necessity, really. I do not enjoy his presence, although I actually got a letter from the healers recently – his name is Esrin, right? As rare as that is, I figured it had to be very important, but it was merely something he wanted me to extend to you. That we should change his name to the Awakened Eagle because he’s awake more often than not. Apparently he’s being nice to the healers, too. Actually thanking them and chatting with them._

_Personally, I didn’t know what to make of it, and I’d rather not visit him again. But he seems to be doing better. I hope that makes you happy._

_That’s all I want, little sister._

_Go out in the shade, now, and breathe easy. My Palla would never succumb to the sea, and not she nor her sisters would ever surrender to lowly pirates._

_They’ll come home soon. Don’t you worry._

_I love you, little candle._

_Your sister  
Minerva_

Not more than a few days passed before another letter reached Minerva’s hands from a courier with snow-soaked boots. Her heart skipped a beat as usual, even though she recognized the insignia of the university of Khadein.

That Maria would send something so quickly wouldn’t be completely out of place, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that something might be wrong, so she tore it open on the spot, and in the lamplight of a slim hallway, Maria’s perfect handwriting opened itself up to her.

_Minerva_

_Thank you for forwarding Esrin’s words. I’ll give you a full response later._

_But there’s something I wanted to have you ask the… the Awakened Eagle._

_ From what you wrote last time I understand that this might be a bit much, but could you ask him something for me, and relay the response? Please? I know I said I wanted to get the answers myself, but this is a question that kept me awake last night._

_…Does he hate me?_

_Maria_

\---

The healers were in unusually high spirits. They greeted Minerva with a mug of freshly made elderberry juice, and she was not rude enough to say no, even if she did down it all in one gulp. Amira’s wife, the blacksmith, narrowed her eyes and mirrored Minerva, not wanting to be lesser, and Amira only shook her head.

“It’s meant to be _enjoyed_”, Amira huffed at both of them. “I worked hard making it!”

Esrin made a point in drinking his slowly, peeking up at Minerva. “Is the princess Maria all right, Your Majesty?”

“Yes”, Minerva responded, her voice tense, eyes darting toward Michalis’ door. “I forwarded what you told me. She used your new code name.”

“Oh, nice.” His cheeks darkened with a flush, and he nodded. “Thanks, Your Majesty.”

“I can extend another greeting, if you like”, Minerva said and put her mug down. “It’s the least I could do, but please, wait for me to come to you rather than send letters to the castle. Unless it’s very important, I’d rather we risk as little exposure as possible. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll just be a moment.”

She pushed Michalis’ door open with one last look at the healers and blacksmith—Amira had opened her mouth as to say something, but changed her mind and backed down—and then closed it behind her with a slight exhale through her nose.

She kept her eyes closed for another breath, gathering her strength, bracing for his voice.

“Ah, she lives!”

She opened her eyes and glared at him, which didn’t deter him in the least.

“And without your ugly axe, too”, Michalis continued with a thin smile. “I guess I should congratulate you.”

“Hm”, was Minerva’s short answer.

She forced her feet to walk up to the bed. She could do this for Maria. Just one question. Just like every other time. Nothing more.

“Welcome to my simple abode”, Michalis continued, letting his gaze wander over the ceiling. “Forgive me for assuming the worst. Being queen is not the same as commanding an army. Requires a lot of skills you’ve always lacked.”

“Perhaps I’ve learned far more than you’ve realized.”

“Yes, right”, he smiled. “How’s your ideals working for you? Everyone holding hands and singing joyful songs?”

She could tell him that things were going better than she’d ever dared hope. She could paint everything about her hard-earned successes in a flowery tale, something that would wipe the smugness of his face… But Michalis knew deceit, and would probably see through her. She said nothing.

“I know you’re the one with the crown”, Michalis said, softer. His voice sounded genuine, all of a sudden. One part of her relaxed, and the other, the stubborn, the betrayed, the broken, screamed at her to not let herself be fooled. _What does he want what does he want what does he want—? _

He clasped his hands over his chest, tilting his head. “But I’m not going anywhere, Minerva. You could ask for my help.”

_That’s what he wants_, her angry yells answered her.

“I have plenty of help already”, she answered him immediately.

“Oh, how could I forget!” He rolled his eyes. “A council of old nobles just waiting for you to make a mess of things.”

“They’ll have to wait a long time, then”, Minerva cracked back at him.

Michalis smiled emptily and looked at her. She’d expected more of his seething replies, but his smile lingered.

“You know what… Perhaps they will. You’ve surprised me before, sister.” His face softened further, and he lifted a finger at his upper lip, scratching it. “You got a little bit of, ah—“

Minerva furiously wiped her mouth.

“Elderberry juice, huh?” Michalis nodded. “It’s all they drink here now. Snow’s everywhere, but autumns bounty still lingers. I am sick of it.” He let out a sigh. “It was father’s favorite, though.”

“Don’t you speak of him”, Minerva snapped.

“Of course not”, Michalis sighed again. “Of course not.”

He struggled to sit upright on trembling arms. Minerva stepped back, ready for whatever he was attempting—but then just as quickly, he sagged back and sank down into his pillow. The expression of grief was evident on his face for just a moment, before he mumbled ‘_sitting is overrated, anyway_’ and steeled his gaze again.

“So you’re obviously not here for my assistance this time”, he said. “What _is_ the purpose of your visit, then?”

Minerva relaxed her shoulders, ever so slightly, and pulled the stool forward and sat down by his bedside. It was the first time she did let herself relax that much before him, but she wouldn’t give him the false hope that he’d managed to soften her. She clasped her hands and met his gaze head-on.

“I’m just a messenger. Maria wanted me to ask something of you.”

“Oh”, he said, and his face softened. “Maria… I got Esrin to tell me she’s in Khadein. Something you never bothered to tell me.”

“I’d rather you didn’t know.” Minerva glanced over to the closed door, feeling a tired twitch of her mouth. “The healers say you’ve been pleasant toward them as of late. It doesn’t surprise me you had ulterior motives for being nice.”

“Because whatever I do has to be evil, right? I am capable of being polite, Minerva, and I simply wanted to know what’s happened to my little sister.”

“And now you do.”

“I do. Very well, I’ll answer anything she wants.”

Minerva felt a pull at her brow. She did not expect his cooperation this easily, and hesitated. Just a messenger, and just a simple question.

“Maria… wants to know if you hate her.”

That had Michalis draw for a breath, his eyes widening. “What? Why would I—?”

Minerva glared pointedly at him, and he quieted. He fought to get more upright yet again, even though it made it harder for him to breathe. In a hunched sitting position, his eyes were still wide.

“Tell her… tell her ‘_no_’.” He paused, and Minerva considered getting to her feet. That was all the answer she needed, but Michalis was not done. He breathed deeply, once, twice, never letting her go with his gaze.

“Sending her away was my deepest regret. I _know _you won’t believe me, but I… never wanted her hurt.”

“You intend to play the part of a caring brother?” Minerva rested her head in her hand and watched him continue his breathing struggle. “It’s a bit late for that.”

“I do not _pretend_”, Michalis snapped. “My decisions may have been… clouded, like you so eloquently yelled at me some months ago. But I’ve always cared about Maria, more than you’ve probably ever realized…. And hurting her is what plagues me the most.”

“Might as well have murdered _me_, though”, Minerva said icily, the stab of grief letting her words slip before she thought better of it. “I thought not doing _that _would be your ‘_greatest regret_’.”

“You’re really making it difficult to talk openly, Minerva. Weren’t you just a messenger?”

Minerva should leave. She’d gotten her answer and now every word he spoke was just another attempt to weaken her, weaving his way into her pity—yet she would stay here until any of what he said made sense. Because what he told her now couldn’t be true. He’d never cared about anyone. Michalis was cold and cruel and she didn’t want to hear him try to be anything else.

“Message received”, Minerva said. “Now you answer to _me_. Go ahead. Talk _openly_. If you didn’t want to hurt Maria, why would you?”

Michalis exhaled forcefully through tight jaws, clearly in pain as he managed to straighten his back further. They were at equal heights then, his gaze still unmoving.

“Have you walked around all these years thinking I _wanted _to hurt her?” Michalis clenched his fists. “You think I _wanted _to murder father? I saw our entire kingdom backed into a corner, and I needed to free us. I’d do whatever it took. And _don’t _repeat your lectures, I remember them well enough. I did what I believed I had to back then, and that’s all there is.”

“I still fail to see how that defends anything you did to Maria. I asked you _why_, Michalis.”

Michalis frowned at her. “Is that not obvious already? I knew you wouldn’t approve of my methods, but I_ needed you_. I couldn’t wage that war without a general I knew would fight without fear of death and without thoughts of betrayal. And you were the strongest there was. Gharnef wanted you dead, but I said no.”

Her death would have been an easy thing to arrange, Minerva realized. When she’d been unsuspecting, living under the same roof and sharing a table with him nearly every day, walking the same corridors—combat had been her purpose and her drive, but she had never thought to apply her vigilance to her own home.

“You did not refrain from it out of charity, obviously.” Minerva’s voice sounded thick, and she hated that she wasn’t strong enough to fight it.

He didn’t answer her remark, either because he didn’t want to or because he himself didn’t know the answer.

“I would likely still have used Maria against you”, he told her instead. “But I was foolish enough to believe Gharnef’s words of her being safer in Deil than in Macedon. I should have kept her at my side where her suffering could be limited, not sending her into Doluna’s claws where I had no control. I _do _regret that. I want you to know it, and I want her to know it, too.”

Minerva felt her tears get stuck in her throat, furious pain against her eyelids. “What difference do you think that makes?”

“None, I realize.” He sighed again. “But as strange as it sounds, it’s a relief to tell you. It’s nice having these chances to talk to you, Minerva. Fighting and all. It’s how it used to be, you know? When we were little… when things were simpler, I could always count on you to make things interesting. You were annoying, absolutely, and I thought the things that made you happy were dumb, but... I still _wanted_ you to be happy.”

Minerva’s tears ran over, burned with fury. “Then what made you hate me so?”

“I’ve never—“ Michalis stopped himself, unable to deny her. No, he didn’t hate Maria, but Minerva was a whole other matter.

“All right, fine”, he yielded. “You would much rather see me burn than see me succeed, for one. You never properly listened to me like Maria did, too busy with listening to your own ignorant gut—“

“How lovely of you to make a list.”

“—but despite all that, what I did to you wasn’t _personal_. You were a means to an end.”

That somehow hit worse than hatred. And she didn’t know how to hit him back, other than to wipe away her tears. He wanted to get under her skin, she _knew_ that, but at the same time she wouldn’t back away or shut him out.

“So taking advantage of me was an easy choice to make compared to Maria.”

“Yes”, Michalis answered, and she didn’t doubt his honesty. “You’ve complicated my life since birth. So maybe I did resent you. Father loved you infinitely more than he ever cared for me—Gharnef told me there were plans in motion of casting me aside and making you heir, even.”

“That’s such an obvious lie. Father loved you more than you deserved.”

He’d loved Michalis to the end, and knowing that hurt her so. Why was Minerva the only one refusing to forgive?

“He might have”, Michalis said, looking down on his hands and then back on Minerva. “But he _always_ loved me less. He needed mother’s help to understand me, and when she died there was no one to take my side. You always stood by _his_, so of course he’d favor you.“

“I didn’t want a crown!” she yelled back at him. “Father knew the only thing I wanted was to be a soldier, and never more!”

“And I let you be a soldier, didn’t I?” Michalis huffed back, attempting to yell but not succeeding. “You never had to bother with _any_ of the hardest decisions.”

“You expect me to be _grateful _?” Minerva cried at him. In the corner of her eye, she saw a healer crack the door open and peek inside with terrified eyes, but she didn’t care. “You want me to feel sympathy for you not killing me, for you damning me instead? _Consider the favor returned_.”

“Minerva, please“, he defended himself weakly. “I merely meant that I paved the way, I never said your decisions were _easy_ ones.”

“_My _decisions?” Minerva got to standing, her fists pulsating from her clenching them. “What decision was I even allowed to make aside from how to burn kingdoms most effectively? _You _put me out there. _You _left me with dragons—dragons who crushed the faces of generals who bored them, who reveled in our suffering, and you knew that, and still _you _decided my life was to be sacrificed to them. Since you’re too cowardly to ask—_yes, _I _do _hate you.”

His gaze trembled. “Glad that’s out in the open, then.”

She was nearly crying again, so she put up her hands.

“We’re done”, she said. “There’s no point. Nothing you say will change any of it.”

“The past is what it is”, Michalis agreed, his voice exhausted, “because I was not wise enough to burn Gharnef’s first letter. You can hate me, Minerva. That’s fine. Come back when you want to.”

She had already crossed the room and pushed the door open. “I don’t need your permission”, she said with one last look at him. “Goodbye.”

The healers outside looked pale, but she merely nodded at them as she closed the door, pretended that everything was as usual even though her eyes smarted. And perhaps they were relieved to not have to ask or address anything, as they only nodded back. She knew she should say something as farewell, but her throat burned and her mind was blank as a sheet.

“I’m sorry for disturbing you”, she said hoarsely. “Thank you for your time.”

“Of course”, Amira answered, and opened the door out for her.

Minerva ached to return home, for the wind to clear her head. Her pulse thundered in her ears and she walked out in one great stride, but she didn’t get very far.

Hera had almost completely blocked the way, with her neck craned with worry, and she hummed deeply as Minerva exited the cottage.

Hera had looked mischievous as ever when Minerva had dismounted earlier that day, as though she’d planned to be a nuisance. This was no prank of hers, though, Minerva knew as soon as Hera angled her head to gaze down at her.

She hummed again, and without warning, lowered her head so it rested on Minerva’s shoulder with a sigh.

Minerva put her arms around her neck, the reins touching her cheek. She put her forehead against Hera’s scales, her eyes still burning, but her breaths were calm.

“Thank you”, Minerva whispered. “It’s all right. I am fine.”

And as her mind eased, even with an aching chest, she’d surprised herself. Those words had not been a lie. She wasn’t _good_, but she was fine. That would be enough, for now.


	24. Dragonscales

Genny kept her distance. That was sort of her thing.

People _weren’t_ her thing. She was terrified of the day she’d be a priestess preaching on her own like Celica and Mae and Boey did – she was good at spreading Mila’s word and she loved and revered her goddess so that wasn’t a problem, but all Genny wanted was to read books and one day write her own. Live a quiet life with a window overlooking the sea and with a bishop’s garb on a hook by her door. All this adventuring wasn’t what she was born to do, but ever since her mother had left her on the Novis priory doorstep, Genny would never again be left behind by those she cared about.

When Celica had announced her mission to leave Novis, Genny’s heart had turned into a dark knot in her chest, and she’d stood up in her seat in the priory hall. Everyone’s eyes had been on her, and her spine had crawled with fear—yet she’d spoken. ‘_Please take me with you_’.

Mae had cocked a brow, but Celica had smiled and nodded. ‘_Of course, Genny. If that is what you wish. But it will be dangerous. Think it over, won’t you?_’

Genny’s cheeks had burned with embarrassment, but she’d known she needed no time to think. And despite hay fever, aching feet and nights with her heart hammering at the top of her mouth she had not regretted her choice.

Not until Sonya, anyway.

It wasn’t fair to judge someone by their looks, but the moment Sonya had made herself known, Genny had felt her belly twist. The impeccable make-up, the dignified way she angled her chin, the harsh shape of her face – she wasn’t mother, she _wasn’t_, but Mila forgive her, Genny wanted nothing to do with Sonya regardless. Genny kept to the rear lines, making excuses about her feet or constitution, determined not to reveal the truth. Maybe she would tell them someday. Maybe Sonya wouldn’t frown the way her mother would, but the risk was too great. Genny stayed silent and out of their way.

Which wasn’t that hard to begin with. It wasn’t like people wanted to chat with someone so insignificant in the heat of the desert, they had more important things on their minds. Mae huffed silently as she was supported by Celica, Boey tried to learn to tame ice magic with Sonya’s help, Saber kicked up a trail. The Pegasus sisters fluttered in the skies above, keeping a lookout for any dangers, and Genny’s heart fluttered with them.

Animals were frightening and unpredictable, but the way the Archanean sisters handled their pegasi felt so natural and safe, even to Genny. She had nearly been trampled by one when Saber had unleashed the animals from the stables in the pirate fort, but it swerved and trotted beside her for a few confusing moments.

Genny didn’t remember much about that battle, really. She’d tried to use her healing from a distance, but it had drained her until her head buzzed, and in the end, she’d been forced to run headfirst into the whole thing anyway. Celica had called to her, because Atlas had been hurt and the fortress was such a mess Genny had barely noticed the Pegasus thundering past her.

Her name was Freda, apparently. Genny had learned so now, since that was what Est had yelled as she’d hugged the Pegasus’ neck once things had calmed down a bit. Then Est had turned to Genny with the widest grin and tears running down her face and asked who’d found Freda and set her free. Genny had only been able to point toward Saber, completely dumbstruck.

If Mae was a blaze of energy that shone with fierceness, Est was the literal sun, and Genny hadn’t known how to deal with that. Still didn’t.

So she kept her distance.

When a week had passed, that was getting more difficult. They’d finally come out of the desert. It was nice to feel grass beneath her feet again, and smell the breeze and not be incredibly hot and sweaty all the time. Although there were setbacks, too.

In leaving the desert and going back to the regular roads, the others grew chattier for one, and for the other, they faced an unusually high amount of Terrors. The corpses rattled out of the trees with unstable steps, old rusty swords and bows in their bony hands, and necrodragons had burst out of the ground just an hour ago. Necrodragons were an unholy combination of old human and animal bones joined into scales and teeth and hollow eyes, and quite a rarity. Genny knew how to handle them though, according to the books at the priory a bright blast between their joints would be enough ten times over, and putting that knowledge into practice was surprisingly easy. She wasn’t scared of _them_. They were easier to understand than people.

Terrors happened naturally in magical places, so in coming closer to Mila’s temple, the magic might be what awakened them. But Mae said that Mila had the power to keep them buried and resting, so why didn’t she? Did she hate humans now? Had she abandoned them? Had she stopped being the image of what a mother should be, and instead all that Genny knew a mother to_ be_—?

“They have to be cantored!” Mae grumbled from in front of Genny, kicking at a dead pile of bones. “I’m just saying! Hey, Catria, didn’t you say you saw a Duma priest around here?”

Catria stopped poking at the dead bones with her javelin and raised her hands in defense. “I’m just saying I thought I saw someone wearing a cloak that was in a _real _hurry to hide from a sky knight. He disappeared into the trees before I got a good look at him.”

“It could be a cantorer”, Celica agreed. “But that doesn’t mean they had to be a Duma priest!”

“Yes, assuming they’d be _this _close to Mila’s temple would mean that the Divine Accords aren’t being enacted in the least!” Boey said. “And I’m not eager to jump to that conclusion.”

“Sometimes you gotta jump!” Mae frizzled. “I mean come on—I expected some Desaix dudes, but _this_ is unexpected and _super_-fishy!”

“I’m afraid I didn’t get a good look at them either”, Palla said. “Except that they were quite gray in the face.”

“Now that you mention it, they _did_ look kinda gray in the face”, Catria added helpfully. “I dunno if that’s a theme for Duma people, but—”

That had Sonya perk her ears from across their tiny battlefield, and she arose with her impeccable hair and clothes still in place, even after such a gruesome fight.

“That’s what happens to those who dabble in the darkest kinds of magic”, Sonya said with her perfect voice, and Genny couldn’t handle it.

She stopped listening and backed away, quick as a mouse.

She must have looked ridiculous, but she didn’t care. Her response to Sonya was visceral. She thought she’d start crying, and she wanted to hit her with her books and yell at her because she’d been so cruel, she wanted Sonya to understand that her daughter wasn’t worthless—

Not her mother, but the same nose. Same careful skin routine, same focus on their appearance… And the same voice. Sparkly, pristine and gentle with an edge. Genny had to get away from all of it.

There weren’t many places to hide, but Genny backed off toward one of the dead necrodragons. It was for the best if she let the adults do the important talking bits, anyway. She couldn’t contribute to that.

She exhaled into her staff and bowed her head, the involuntary tension in her shoulders easing. She was alone again, just her and a necrodragon corpse—or so she’d thought. Out of the wreckage barged a knight of bright pink and wide smiles, bones and scales flying.

Genny scrambled to not fall over in surprise, but despite erupting from beside her, Est had not noticed her. She carried a giant scale from the necrodragon in her arms and her focus was on her sisters. Palla was still talking to Celica and Sonya and looked Very Important and Busy, but Catria had begun to put on gloves and shoving some of the remains off the road.

“Hey, Catria, I could _totally_ sell this, right?” Est lifted her dragonscale, waving it in the air like it wasn’t a sharp, deadly thing. “It’s so shiny! Abel would go crazy over it!”

“Is Abel a customer?” Catria bantered back at her without looking up. “Perhaps the only one?”

Est kept her back straight. “No, actually—our regulars would _also _go crazy over this! Yeah, that’s right, we have regulars! The shop’s doing really well, people from all over town come to look at our wares!”

“Really?” Catria huffed and threw a broken sword onto the pile of bones. “Just looking, not buying?”

“Ugh, sis, you’re no fun!” Est huffed back. “We were doing great! I had a garden, I had a rose bush – well, Abel cared for that one – and Abel’s parents are super nice. And you know, one time _Marth_ came down to visit us! Bet you didn’t know that, huh?”

“No”, Catria answered, her voice a bit chilly as she straightened and looked her sister in the eye. “I sure _didn’t_. Why did you never write, Est?”

“Oh—”, Est said and lowered the dragonscale. “Hey, I just... I felt kinda busy, and I didn’t want you guys to get too jealous of me having it all good, and...”

Catria did not look mad, but she also looked like she was used to Est making excuses and she was having none of it. Catria had looked softer the first week when Est had come back, but she had hardened a little whenever she thought Est was crossing a line. Genny wasn’t as scared of Catria now, but when she looked like _that_, Genny wouldn’t want to approach her at all.

Est looked to be affected by the pointed look, too—she finally trailed off and shook her head. “No, I don’t know. I’m just bad at letters. I’m sorry. I’ll do better when we come home again, I promise! Maybe I could send you something like this!” She pointed at the dragonscale with a proud smile.

“Oh, absolutely”, Catria smiled, softening again. “I love big clunky things.”

She was definitely being sarcastic, but if Est noticed, she didn’t care.

“We have this really awesome tea that’s made of a super unique flower that grows on a dragon’s grave”, Est continued. “And it is shock-full of fantastic properties. Like, uhm... I forgot those. Well, I think you’d love it! You have to drink it outside though. It smells like swampwater.”

“Huh”, Catria said, grimacing slightly. “Why don’t you send that to Palla instead? Bet she’d love that, huh?”

Est’s eyes narrowed, but she let the teasing pass and looked down onto the dragonscale again.

Genny regarded them in silence. It was a bit embarrassing, but she was trying to remember their interactions to put into the dialogue of her work in progress. Last night she’d written a chapter where the main character, a dashing knight, got kidnapped but beat her captors with nothing but a rock and fun banter.

In her first drafts, Genny’s main character had kind of been an all-powerful blob without personality, but once she wrote the chapter where the dashing Ser Dayra laughed heartily and let every other prisoner take a turn with rocks of their own, something clicked. It was just the right amount of fun and courage and romantic chivalry—

“Hey, Genny!”

Genny’s thoughts froze in their tracks, her hands hugging her staff.

Est. Looking toward her. _Walking _toward her. Still carrying the scale that was as large as Genny’s entire torso.

“I didn’t notice you there!” Est grinned wide and knocked her fist at the scale with a _‘clonk_’. “Have you _seen_ this?”

“Y-yes”, Genny stammered. “Um— Y—“

“Oh no!” Est immediately put down the scale and clasped her hands in front of her, like she was trying to stand proper. “That’s right! Palla said I should tone it down around you.”

“Um, it’s okay”, Genny said, her cheeks warm.

It was nice that Palla had cared to inform Est about Genny being easily startled, but on the other hand, she wanted for Est to approach her. In theory, anyway. Genny did not have very much to say to her nor did she know how to deal with all that fierce joy radiating from Est’s smiles—but even so, she did not _want_ to keep her distance to her. Not really. Est was possibly the coolest person Genny had ever met—and that was after just knowing her for less than a week. Genny thought of herself as awkward and silent, but there were entire worlds in her mind and some people made her imagination spark and radiate with inspiration. Enough for her to want to try and befriend them, impossible as it may be.

Maybe she had just been standing there, wide-eyed and quiet, but Est was unfazed by it. She moved a bit more carefully now, and tapped the dragonscale perched up in front of her feet.

“I was just wondering if these scales have anything magical about them? They sure look neat! Not the bones, but these scales are all shiny if you just rub the grime off them.”

“Don’t do that”, Genny blurted, breathlessly. “Uhm… It doesn’t wash off easily.”

Est glanced up on her, then on her sleeve, where Necrodragon slime had already dug into the fabric.

“Wish I’d known that sooner”, she muttered. “That’s kinda nasty. Thanks for the warning! You know these dead, cursed things better than I do. Aw, yeesh, that didn’t sound good, uh—so _are_ they magical?”

“They’re not special”, Genny said, her mind focusing on the easy things—Est was right, Terrors she _did _know. “They will rot. Terror-parts always do that. And start to smell, probably.”

“Yikes”, Est muttered, poking at the scale with her boot. “What a bummer. Well, any ideas for better Valentian souvenirs for me to bring with me home?”

Genny loosened her tight grip on her staff. She exhaled and managed a smile. This was her chance to have an actual conversation, and make a friend in this group that was close to her in age, and maybe—

“Est”, Palla called from where Celica stood. “It’s time to move!”

“Oh, nice!” Est shouted back, and Genny’s courage shattered.

She should say something. She should _say _something, and not shrink down and be quiet.

“I can do that”, she said, quick and silent as a mouse.

Est arced a brow at her. “Do what?”

The question made Genny want to hide, but she kept her back straight just like she’d seen Est do mere minutes ago. “Talk souvenirs. I can do that.”

Est broke into another of her bright smiles. “Right! Sweet! Let’s do that later, then!”

Genny could only nod. There was a limit to her courage, after all, but maybe… Maybe she could just keep being braver.


	25. Saintfloods

Est sure appreciated seeing the open sky again. It was so _blue_. So _big_. What she’d seen of Valentia so far was really kind of flat (with deserts and all), so the sky stretched on for quite a way and it was nice to soar in it. Freda liked it too, her wings beating with excited vigor. Est had worried she would’ve lost another Pegasus during the journey over, but Freda was a bit like her—really stubborn about not bending to anyone else. Of course the pirates couldn’t handle her or hurt her.

Est glanced down. Palla’s and Catria’s princess friend and her people looked like dots down there, but she could still see Genny turn her face up and look at her, to which Est grinned and waved. Genny quickly looked down and did not wave back.

Est had been with these people for about a week. It was a bit weird because they all already knew one another and Est was always behind her sisters in joining new groups of people. Last to become a real Pegasus knight, last to bump into the Archanean League, and last to join with these Warriors of Mila or whatever Mae had called them. She had reasons to be late, but still.

That stuff usually wasn’t a problem. To be fair though, Est wasn’t _as _happy to make friends and trust people just yet, but she still liked Mae and Celica a lot (Boey was kind of a bore, but he was nice enough) and she loved listening to the banter between Leon and Kamui. Sonya she already knew and liked—the one she really liked best though, was Genny.

Maybe because they were close in age. Maybe because she reminded Est of Maria, even though their personalities vastly differed. Where Maria was outgoing and determined, Genny was shy and hesitant, but she was still really nice and Est wanted to get to know her. _Genuinely_ wanted to, even though she was emotionally exhausted after all this pirate-business.

But getting to know Genny was like catching water in your fist. She seemed interested for a few moments but then always squeezed out or slipped away, until Est realized that the reason must be that Genny didn’t like her. They had talked a _little_ bit but Genny soon excused herself and so it went, day after day. Funny, because Genny talked to Palla just fine, but as soon as Est showed up, she looked away or stopped talking. Palla said she just spooked easily, but who was _that _shy?

She did occasionally glance up at Est, whatever that meant. Est would keep waving at her, because it was instinct to do so, but once she and her sisters soared down on the ground, Genny was as far away from the rest of the group as possible. Doing chores, still glancing over at Est. Huddling down under a blanket as the sun set, still glancing. Like she was waiting for something to happen.

This was their last time making camp before they reached the tiny village Est had spotted another two day’s march away. Celica told them that village was called Saintfloods. Weird name for a village, but Est’s village where she’d grown up hadn’t really _had _a name because it was so small, so she couldn’t really judge.

Apparently Saintfloods would be their last stop at an inn before they reached the Temple of Mila (Est still only vaguely knew about their objective, something about a dragon restoring the fields?) and so for Est, her frame of opportunity to make friends with someone as slippery as Genny was way too small. Quite a shame, but if there was something Est _didn’t _do it was stop trying, at least not while there were signs that Genny might actually want for her to talk to her. One ‘_leave me alone_’ would be enough for Est to back away forever, but for as long as all those curious looks were happening, she would keep trying.

Est wandered over to the campfire. Genny was scribbling down in her little diary, now. No more glancing, at the moment. Was it all right to disturb her? If Est had been in Archanea and just greeted someone, she’d have run up to her and yelled a _‘hi!_’, but that wasn’t an option here.

_Tone it down_, she told herself, like a chant. _Tone it down, tone it down—_

It was a bit much to ask of herself, but she’d try. She took another careful step in Genny’s direction.

Genny was still deeply invested in whatever she was writing. She had a small smile on her face and her eyes shone and her cheeks flushed. She used the light of the flames, and she leaned in pretty close. Her hair, soft as it looked, might catch on fire! In fact, Est was sure it _was_—

“Genny!” Est didn’t think any further. She reached out and pulled Genny back, throwing her blanket over her head and patting over the fizzle of her forelocks.

“Eep!”

Quick as she could, Est jumped back, and Genny struggled free. Her eyes were wide and glossy with tears as she looked up on Est from beneath the blanket.

“What—what—?”

“Your hair got burnt!” Est shouted, not sure why she was so loud. Toning it down just really wasn’t her thing. “I—Your _hair burned_!”

Genny looked up at her forelocks, feeling a ruined strand with her fingers.

“Oh... Oh _no_!” she peeped.

“Um, don’t worry, it’s, it’s fine! It still looks nice!” Est carefully reached for the blanket and put it back over Genny’s shoulders. “I didn’t want you to get hurt, is all. My sister got pretty badly burnt one time… I’m sorry for scaring you.”

“It’s okay”, Genny whispered.

“Okay”, Est repeated, hopefully using that word right. “Um… so. Hi.”

She was about to go back to standing awkwardly some ways away, but then again... They were talking now, and Genny might be too stunned to slip away at the moment, or she simply didn’t mind Est’s presence as much. She could at least ask.

“Can I sit with you?”

Genny looked upon her like she’d just threatened her, and Est backed off.

“Oh, okay, sorry! I’ll go back!”

“No”, Genny peeped. Est barely heard her. “You can, um, stay.”

“All right”, Est said, and carefully sat down beside Genny on the log.

They were quiet. Est put her knees to her chest and rocked a little back and forth, but Genny seemed to relax a little once things were silent. Est stayed that way for a few moments more, but the urge to socialize was like an unbearable itch.

She cleared her throat and asked in her gentlest voice; “Is it okay if I ask what you’re writing?”

Genny’s face grew red and she slammed the book together. “No! It’s—it’s just a book!”

“So you’re writing a whole story?” Est asked with a smile, too impressed to think further on Genny’s embarrassed expression. “Hey, that’s so neat! I wish I could do that.”

Genny put her palms on the covers and peeked up at Est. “…Can’t you?”

“Oh, nu-uh, letters were always all over the place for me”, Est grinned. “I can barely read labels without getting bored. I like stories though! I always had Catria or Palla to read to me. What’s yours about?”

“Uhm… Knights.” Genny flushed even more, but Est was not deterred.

“Oh hey! _I’m _a knight! I can help out if you wanna ask something! Except if it’s about the boring knight-stuff, like rules about tax collection or something.”

Genny looked at her from beneath her forelocks, and her cramp-like fists relaxed a little. “That’s… that’s nice… I’m actually…uhm… never mind.”

Est hesitated a little at that. “Are… are you sure you don’t want me to leave?”

“No, no”, Genny reassured her with wide eyes. “No, it’s just, uhm, you’re…kind of tall.”

Est wasn’t sure what that meant, but sure, Genny was pretty tiny—made sense if that made her intimidated. Either way, Est could work with this. She leaned down a little and smiled as she whispered; “Have you seen my sisters?”

Genny let out a small giggle. “Yeah. But you’re still really tall. Are all Archaneans, uhm, like you three?”

Est chuckled and shook her head. “It’s funny that you lump us all together like that. No, but us Macedonans are usually the larger sort. Either that or everyone is in on some big joke, ‘cuz when large people are born around the continent people say they must have some of Macedon in them. Could be either, really—then again, once you’ve seen Commander, you do kind of think it has to be true.”

“Catria has said something about a Commander”, Genny frowned. “Who… who is that?” She was clearly getting more comfortable too now, and it spurred Est on. She could feel excitement bubble inside her like it always used to. 

“She’s kind of a big deal”, Est explained. “She used to command the squad that was me and my sisters—and a whole army, really, but that time kind of sucked. It’s way better now, and she’s stopped being a soldier anyway, but Catria and I still call her Commander because it feels awkward to say anything else.”

“Oh”, Genny said uncertainly. “And you’re saying… she’s bigger than all of you?”

“Well, she’s _way_ taller than me, although she’s shorter than Palla, actually—but she’s so _big_, she’s got arms like trunks and her shoulders are _this _wide!” Est stretched her arms out as far as they could go just for dramatic effect. “And she rides a wyvern, which makes her three times as huge!”

Genny frowned deeper, her fingers slowly opening the pages of her book again. “What’s... a wyvern?”

Est sank back a little. Genny’s eyes had changed slightly—they weren’t wide like a frightened deer, they were focused and…excited, even.

“You haven’t got those?” Est asked, tapping her chin. “I mean, they’re like... those necrodragons, but bigger, and they have longer necks and their front legs are smaller, but they got wings and can fly and are pretty cozy when they want to be. We fly them like pegasi! They’re like soldiers in their own right, with their teeth and claws and stuff. You have to be a real hardy knight to be able to tame one! Not that they’d bite a human all willy-nilly, but they’ll bash one with their wings or tail or head when they get annoyed and that isn’t for the faint of heart…”

Est stopped herself when she realized she must be getting things way too unstructured for anyone to follow—usually a problem with her whenever she was telling stories. But Genny sat with her book open, quill resting on the page as her eyes glittered in the firelight, still with that focused look.

“Go on, please”, she said, and Est needed no more prompting.

\---

On the way to Saintfloods, Est didn’t fly. Yeah, she’d missed flying, but from what Palla and Catria told her, they’d do their fair share of that later. Apparently, getting home was a full five-day flight crossing the ocean half-way, and that’s only after a week at sea on a ship, first! A week on a boat with no-one but Palla and Catria and some sailors surely wasn't the worst thing in the world, especially when that ship led to _home_, but right now Est’s mind was set on Genny and Genny alone. She just _knew _Abel and Maria and Commander were doing just fine, or at least they weren’t fighting weird dead things at every turn. Genny? _Someone _had to make sure she was coming home safe.

Palla already did that, but really, Est could too! Especially when she and Genny were _talking_-talking now. Not for more than a day, but she already felt like they were friends—or something reminiscent thereof. So Est preferred riding beside Genny in the rear, just watching the landscape around them.

“Oh, look at that cloud”, Est said and pointed from the back of her Pegasus.

“Very fluffy”, Genny smiled shyly. “Hey, what do clouds feel like?”

“Wet and cold”, Est answered with an exaggeratedly thoughtful nod. “A lot of people seem to wonder that, but just ask a sky knight and they’ll answer better than any scholar! Although, not to spoil the surprise, but most of the air up there is cold and wet regardless of there being clouds or not. I mean it gets drier even further up, but that’s also where you run out of air to breathe, so it’s better to stay a bit lower.”

“Wow”, Genny whispered. “I would never dare to go up there like that! Isn’t it… scary?”

“No”, Est answered, growing more solemn. “I mean, I’ve been doing it for so long. Soldier-life, yay.”

She was quiet for a while and watched her sisters do their effortless circle scouting formation. Genny hummed thoughtfully and put her hands in her pockets.

“You don’t sound very happy”, she stated. “Why not?”

“I had no intention of going back to the front lines to fight, you know”, Est said. “I actually went to open a shop with my love and live like a normal girl. But right when I got that chance, it all turned around and…” She sighed and stared into the ground. “... here I am.”

“But you were a knight”, Genny insisted. “Why would you want to stop doing that to be normal?”

Est was a bit taken aback by that. “Wh—I didn’t want to be stabbed to death before I turned twenty! I wanted to actually _live_ with my husband! I know dying for one another is considered romantic for some reason, but it doesn’t make you any more in love, it just makes you both dead!”

Genny opened her mouth, then closed it again. “I’m sorry”, she said. “If there’s anything I can do to help... Oh, I know! You could probably stay behind if there’s another skirmish with Terrors, Celica wouldn’t mind!”

Est sighed again. “No, no, that won’t do. I _want _to help you guys! I’m just... It’s not where I’d imagine myself to be, had it been like... Six months ago. Sheesh, just... Six months. I was by the fireplace, and Abel had made me hot buttermilk... The next day I was with friggin _pirates_!”

“It sounds horrible”, Genny nodded. “I hated the pirates that pestered everyone outside Novis, and I hated the ones in the desert even more. I’m glad they’re gone.”

“Same here, but I guess that’s obvious. They’d look all smug every day and tell me I’d break and one point or another—and I told them that the only thing that would break was their skulls when my sisters came.”

“Wow…” Genny shuddered a little. “If they’d taken me, I’m not sure I would be able to say anything at all. I guess I wouldn’t even survive. Whenever something changes I feel like I’m going to die. I was really scared when we left Novis, and I’m still scared.”

“Then you’ve got to be one of the bravest I’ve ever met”, Est nodded seriously. “It’s hard to be brave when you aren’t scared to begin with. like I almost never am. My sisters say that being the youngest, I’m good at adapting to situations, but being adaptable doesn’t mean much when your luck is as terrible as mine. They think my life has been pretty easy with them taking care of me, but it’s actually been tough for me too sometimes. I guess I just started realizing that when I met Abel. Well, at first it was just a lot of kissing and stuff and less life-reflection, but I’d kissed before and with him, things were just _different_—I wanted to stay alive for him. I wanted to wake up to a future where he was.”

“That’s so romantic”, Genny smiled. “Your husband… What is he like?”

“Oh”, Est said and her heart surged a little at the question. “He’s always so kind. And humble, and... He cares so much. He has such warm, cozy arms and a sweet, sweet laugh. He always has this little smile when I’m around, sometimes I think he’s incapable of being truly upset. Maybe... He’s not even upset now that I’m gone. I mean, he’s probably just... just sad. Oh, Abel. I miss him.”

“Sorry for asking!”

“No, that’s fine”, Est smiled. “Missing him just means I love him!”

“Can I… quote you on that?”

“Sure”, Est said and poked Genny loosely with her foot. “Hey, so does that mean the main character knight is in love with someone? Who?”

Genny had only summarized bits and pieces about her story to Est, and been so embarrassed about it she had to take breaks, but Est had listened attentively for once and honestly… she was pretty invested.

“That’s a spoiler!” Genny blurted and hugged her staff. “And secret!”

“Aw”, Est chuckled. “Is it the handsome guard boy?”

“What? No!”

“Oh? Is it the—”

“Stop guessing”, Genny shrieked and then laughed. It was genuine and heartfelt and Est had not heard her do much else than giggle. She liked her laugh. It was friendly and nice.

“So, uhm…” Genny smiled, cheeks flushed. “Do you have any other stories about love? Just for inspiration!”

“Oh _do _I”, Est grinned. “There were a few guys my age in the army and I’ve flirted with all of them—pretty much, anyway.” Her smile died down a little. “Not much to tell about it, really. Kissed them and shared secrets under the moonlight and stuff. I don’t know, again, I guess I kind of… Pushed extra hard for stuff to be normal when they really weren’t.” She quieted, then shook her head. “Sorry. I don’t mean to be such a buzzkill.”

Genny looked up at her. “You can talk about the war. That’s okay. You’re not a buzzkill.”

“Thanks, Gen. I don’t want to sour things, is all.”

“You don’t! I’m just sorry I don’t have anything interesting to respond.”

“You’re plenty interesting, Gen. Just saying.”

Genny only opened her mouth a little, as though such a compliment was unheard of to her. “Uhm—We were talking about love stuff! Sorry, didn’t mean to derail things.”

“Heh, sure”, Est chuckled and shrugged. “I guess I could talk about my mom and dad! That’s some romantic stuff.”

“Y-yeah, I’d love to hear that. That’s Catria and Palla’s mom and dad too, right?”

“Yup! I never remember meeting them myself, but my sisters would tell me about them all the time.”

“Hang on, let me get my book, first!”

“…Are you sure you can write and walk at the same time?”

Genny nodded, rummaging around in her backpack and nearly tripping over her own feet as she did. Est bent down and caught her shoulder, then quickly retreated. Genny was not very keen on touching.

“I’ve got this”, Genny said, a steely sort of glint in her eye, like she was saying ‘_I’m not gonna let a good story be unwritten_’. With that determined look, she didn’t seem shy or quiet at all.

Est chuckled. “If you say so! Okay, so the story begins with my mom… She had green hair, like Palla, and blue eyes, like Catria—and she was a Pegasus knight just like the rest of us. Her name was Milere, and was born in the heart of Archanea. Her parents ran the stables of a noble house, but she wanted to be a soldier; she had practiced with the horses so much, she could ride in her sleep. She got into the Archanean army, and once she got to practice riding a Pegasus, she knew that was what she wanted to keep doing. It wasn’t that common to be a sky knight in Archanea, and so to train, she and like ten other sky knights would go to Macedon. See, Macedon is a bit different, right? Every kingdom has a few pegasi here and there, but Macedon is where everything is _made _for them. Getting a Macedonan teacher was kind of important. And one day, they were setting up for training in the eastern mountains.”

Est paused a bit for emphasis, and smiled at the familiarity of the story. It wasn’t that often that she felt a connection to her parents, but this story would remind her that she was someone’s _daughter_.

“The exercise leader was a very strict lady taking the training of the Archaneans seriously, and when they were deep above the woods, she lifted her spear and said: ‘_all right, recruits—today we will practice overhead tracking! Find my spear and bring it back as fast as you can.’_ And then she threw the spear far, far away, and it disappeared between the branches. Milere was first to try, and she followed the path of the spear and delved beneath the trees to fetch it. And she’d tacked it just right—the spear was there! However, despite what one might think when you’re deep in the woods, she was not alone; my dad was there, too.”

“Was he hurt by the spear?” Genny asked, glancing up from her book.

“No, not at all! He was holding in his hands, looking a bit surprised, but when Milere landed on the ground, he looked up at her with a smile. ‘_Didn’t expect company on this hunt’_, my dad said, and my mom smiled back. ‘_Nor I_’, she answered, and she tilted her head because this stranger was quite handsome indeed. He had bright red hair, and kind brown eyes, and his name was Berath. They introduced themselves, and my dad angled the spear toward her. ‘_Are ya the one who dropped this? It's a real shame, just so happened to startle a deer I spent the better half of a day tracin’_. To that my mother only said: ‘_Then can I perhaps make it up to you? I am here to practice tracking from above, after all.’_”

“I’m guessing he said yes”, Genny giggled to herself.

“Something like that, anyway”, Est grinned. “Catria retold it like he said; _‘Wouldn’t say no to that offer—sky help’s always appreciated! The village kids down south used to help out, but they all went an’ conscripted, takin’ their mounts with them… I can show you how we used to do it, if ya wouldn’t mind.’_ See, he started rambling because he was nervous, which sounds super cute and if I’m to guess, my mom fell for him on day one. She returned to her teacher with the spear, downright told her that the plan would change and that they’d now track a deer, and so they did. They caught it just an hour later, and flew it back to my dad’s cottage. Milere even offered him a ride, and they all ate together that evening—it was a whole feast with soldier provisions and fresh deer. And the next morning, Berath told her farewell with the belief that she would never return. ‘_It’s Archanea for you, eh? They’re lucky to have a good sky knight like you.’_ And to that, Milere smiled and unwrapped her shawl and gave it to him. ‘_I believe I shall come back for that when the weather gets colder_’, she said. ‘_And then perhaps again, we could share a fire._’ And guess what! She did come back, and sparks kept shooting between them until my mother finally left a letter of resignation to the army and moved into the little cottage in the mountains. My dad asked her if she would not miss the life the left behind, but my mother answered; ‘_These woods have become quite dear to me—it has everything I want out of my life._’ Then she took his hands and proposed to him on the spot. _Damn_, mom was a smooth flirter. Impresses me every time.”

“That’s beautiful”, Genny sighed. “This is _perfect _for the growing love between the huntress and the dancer in my story. So… they did get married, right?”

“Oh yes! They used the very same shawl my mom left for dad as their marriage rite bond”, Est said. “They did kind of a melding between Archanean and Macedonan wedding traditions, and I can relate, since my wedding was kind of a mesh between Altean and Macedonan traditions. Shoot, shouldn’t have said anything, now I miss Abel again.”

Genny closed her book and put a careful hand on her boot, as to comfort her, then retreated her hand again. She really wasn’t that big on touching, but that was okay—they hadn’t known each other that long and Est had decided that if ever hugging was on the table (she kind of imagined embracing everyone when she returned home), she’d let Genny initiate.

“I’m sorry you didn’t get to remember them”, Genny said.

“Thanks”, Est nodded. “But I don’t mind, really. That way I never got to be sad about it, and after all, Palla was like my mom, in a way.”

“Dame Palla probably did amazing”, Genny said, and there was a slight tone of sorrow in her voice. “I wish I had sisters like that, too.”

“Isn’t Mae your sister?” Est asked. “She’s pretty great, right?”

Genny frowned, then looked toward the front, where Celica, Mae and Boey chatted about something or other.

“I came to the priory on Novis when I was six”, she said, very quietly. “And I mean… Celica was really quick to take me in, even though she was like, eleven. And Mae and Boey did, too. I couldn’t do anything special, but they…” She quieted and looked to the sky, where Palla and Catria were like dots among the clouds. “…they still liked me. I guess… yeah. They’re the only family I have.”

Est nodded. They were nearing the town, and she wasn’t sure what else to say. But Genny didn’t seem like she needed Est to say anything at all, she only sighed a little.

“We’re almost in Saintfloods”, she said. “Thanks, Est. I’ve… I’ve had fun.”

There seemed to be something else hidden in those words, like she’d intended to say ‘_I’m going to miss you_’. And it was weird, but Est kind of didn’t really want to go home yet.

\---

Saintfloods was, disappointedly, not a flood full of saints. It was just a bunch of farming houses and a little chapel with a shrine, where Celica and her closest priory friends went to pray before they did anything else. Which included Genny.

Est just kind of hang around, rocking on her heels. Prayer was something that took time, apparently. It even started to rain, although the air still _felt _pretty dry and warm. Catria, being Catria, dragged Est with her to the closest farm to ask for a few buckets to try and collect the rainwater best they could. The farmer gave them three buckets to borrow, and kept none for herself.

“Aren’t you going too?” Catria asked. “There’s plenty of rain landing on the gravel paths, if there’s drought you could collect some of it to water your crops—”

“Oh, no dear”, the farmer chuckled and adjusted her apron. “If Mila provides us rain, then she will provide enough. There’s no need to worry!”

Catria frowned in her Catria-way, but only thanked the farmer for the buckets and pulled Est with her back to the main road.

“Well”, Est said and put her bucket down. “She was nice.”

Catria didn’t look too impressed, she only watched the sky. “We’ve been here for six months, and I’ve only seen rain like this… about two or three times. We _know _there’s a drought. I just don’t get why they wouldn’t want to take advantage of it.”

Est shrugged. She didn’t really understand why Catria would care, but sure, it was a bit weird. “Maybe this is normal for them.”

“It’s been summer since we got here, Est. It’s winter in Macedon, now, and while Valentia doesn’t have winters like we do, they still have a less rainy season. There have been droughts for more or less _years_ and everything is wilting and… I’m just saying… I don’t get why no one but Celica is trying to do anything about it—and even she is just kind of waiting for their patron dragon to do everything for them.”

“I am terribly sorry to interrupt your talk of the weather”, Sonya said and stepped up toward them. Sonya was not one to go do prayers either, apparently, not that Est saw anything odd about that.

Sonya fussed over her hair, holding her hands delicately above her head. “Miss Catria, your mare has the remaining parasol in her saddlebags—but she will not let me near. This rain is _ruining _me, so would you please fetch it for me?”

Catria sighed through her nose, but she went. And the moment Sonya opened the parasol with a relieved smile, the rain died down.

“Oh, would you look at that”, she said and folded the parasol again. “Thank you anyway, miss Catria.”

Catria shrugged and picked up the water buckets. They were filled with only a few mouthfuls, but it was better than nothing. She went back to Mara and poured the water into one of their containers meant to clean and cook with.

Sonya lingered for a bit, giving the shrine of Mila a weird look. Celica and the rest were returning, but that couldn’t be why she looked so hesitant. Est was no Sonya-expert, but it seemed like this wasn’t just about her hair getting ruined.

Genny walked with her friends, quietly but happily—but as soon as she spotted Sonya with Est, she froze a little.

“I should leave”, Sonya chuckled sorrowfully. “I am a most frightful creature to that girl. Especially with this hair, I’d imagine.”

Est frowned a little. She had noticed Genny being weird around Sonya, and hadn’t really asked about it. Genny was scared of most things.

“She’s pretty shy. I don’t think she means to offend you or anything.”

“Nor am I offended”, Sonya said. “It is just the way of things.”

She backed away with that, and Genny dared to approach Est. She didn’t have a skip in her steps like she did just before, and that was a little weird.

“Hey”, Est greeted her. “Did you have fun?”

Genny twirled a lock of her hair and gave her a confused gaze. “It’s not exactly meant to be _fun_. Just peaceful and nice.”

The air was still so warm, Est barely noticed that she had gotten wet, and the roads were drying up too. Est hadn’t been outside of that pirate fortress for very long, but maybe it _was_ strange that everything was so dry. She’d figured it was because they were close to a desert, but there were still villages and farms built like they expected massive yields—and Est didn’t know all that much about farming, except that this weather wouldn’t allow for much of it.

“I heard there was rain”, Genny continued, a little hesitantly. “It was one of the things Celica prayed for. I definitely think the Mother heeded her wish.”

“Yeah”, Est nodded, even though that didn’t sound all that likely to her, her mind still a little distracted. Something _was _a bit weird about them talking about a Divine like she would shower them in blessings if they just waited and clasped their hands in front of shrines enough times. But they believed it so fiercely, Est was the one to feel the strangest for not understanding it.

She considered asking the questions that Catria had wondered about, but never really got the chance. A girl was walking toward them from the opposite end of town, wearing something similar to Genny—what they called a novice robe.

“Welcome, traveler”, the girl greeted Est with a big smile. “The blessings of Mila upon you! Please, allow us to bestow you this bread as our humble gift.”

“Okay”, Est said and moved to pluck the bread out of her hand, which had Genny flush with embarrassment and push Est’s arm away.

“No, no, not like that”, Genny said, and then demonstratively bowed to the girl. “Mila’s blessings upon you too, kind novice”, she recited, and reached her hand out for the bread, before she smiled. “Are you doing the pilgrim exam?”

“Yeah”, the novice nodded. “I just turned thirteen, so I’m allowed!”

“Good luck!” Genny said with an excited shine in her eyes. “I did that three years ago. It was scary, but fun!”

“Oh, it’s not so scary”, the girl grinned. “I love greeting travelers. Hey, since there’s so many of you—does it count as just _one _party or multiple? I need to gift four more pieces of bread for the rites to be done.”

“I don’t think Mila’s gonna smite you as long as you’re making the offering correctly”, Genny admitted with a giggle. “Go ahead!”

The girl giggled too at their shared joke (Est couldn’t understand what was funny about smiting, but to each their own, she supposed) and fished another bread out of her sash and jogged up toward Valbar. “Welcome, traveler”, Est heard her recite, before she stopped listening.

“All this Mila-stuff is hard to keep track of”, Est admitted, still feeling weird about it.

“Is it?” Genny frowned. “I can’t even imagine anything differently… It’s just how the world works. At least _here_. You can ask me anytime, if you want—I know a lot about Mila.”

“What was that stuff about an exam?”

“Oh, see, when you turn thirteen, you can start your journey into priesthood, and you’re examined by your elders! It’s not a _literal_ journey, you just do good in some predetermined ways… I still haven’t really passed the public speaking exam-thing, but I’ll do it once I get home!”

“Huh”, Est nodded, and she watched the novice girl run further, toward Palla and Catria (and Catria just took the bread and shrugged). “You know, when I was thirteen, I’d killed at least fifteen people. I kind of decided to stop counting after that.”

She could hear Genny’s breath halt a little in her throat, and Est shook her head.

“Not to spook you, of course, but I mean… I was _twelve_ when we rode out, and I thought that was no big deal... But that girl said she was thirteen, and she looked super young! I’m just—wow, I was just a literal _baby _back then.”

It did chill her a little, thinking of someone that small, still with pimples and awkward proportions, driving lances through people’s hearts. Like she had.

“Hey”, Genny said with a hesitant clearing of her throat. “You haven’t actually told me… why did you become a knight in the first place?”

Est bit her tongue for a second. They hadn’t been talking for more than two or three days, and everything about the war was a lot of baggage to just drop on a person like that, despite them asking. But she also really, really wanted to tell her. Genny looked so rooted, so ready to listen—Est could at least try to give her a short version.

“I had no other choice, really.” Est hesitated again, breathing deeply. “I mean, fair enough, I thought war was like a game back then… But yeah, my Commander—you remember me talking about her, right?—she recruited me to save me from being locked up. I was to share a cell with my friend for six years, but the jury was still kind of out on that one, so Commander managed to shove me into knighthood. And after spending just a few months in a cell here, I’ve gotta say I’m grateful.”

Genny shuffled uncomfortably. “So it was like… life and death?”

“Oh yeah, it was war after all”, Est said bitterly. ”I haven’t like... questioned it that much. My best friend was held at knifepoint at all times, I was just... glad to be of help. I _wanted_ to be of help. So I killed a bunch of dudes. After that was done and over with, though… I only wanted to be normal. I never really got to be.”

Genny put a careful hand on her arm, and then drew a deep breath as though she was steeling herself with courage before she dived in and gave Est a big, warm hug.


	26. Mila’s Ordeal, Zofia’s Heir

_Mila carried water droplets in her hand. She let them rain down, one by one, onto dead, rocky earth, and out sprouted flowers and bushes and grass._

_She giggled at the beauty of her gift, until one of the bushes grew taller and taller, into a tree that looked like it flexed bulging muscles. She gaped in horror, until someone jumped in front of her and slapped the water out of her hand so it splashed into her face._

_“Duma!” she yelled in indignation, while her brother only laughed._

_“Should’ve seen your face!”_

_Mila shoved him with a growl full of rage. “You’re the WORST.”_

_“I love you too, sister.”_

_She loved him, but right then she didn’t like him very much at all. “You promised! Leave my plants alone, or I’ll tell Naga!”_

_Duma danced around her. “Ooh, scary!”_

_“I will!”_

_Mila didn’t handle anger very well, which was unfortunate, with Duma as her brother. She transformed with a huff, and began her descent toward the Fane of Raman with determination. Duma shifted too, and he followed her with a slightly nervous chuckle._

_“All right, all right, don’t ACTUALLY tell her? I was just messing around with you!”_

_Mila pretended not to hear him. Enough was enough, and this had happened TOO MANY times before._

_By the time she finally reached the ethereal future-teller and master of time itself, Duma had not conjured an apology good enough to keep Mila from crossing her arms and putting her nose in the air._

_“Duma was mean to me, O great Naga!”_

_To her disappointment and surprise, Naga didn’t immediately take her side. The Oracle leaned her arm on her throne and looked up into the carved ceiling with a roll of her eyes. _

_“In two thousand years, I will have my child”, Naga said to them. “And I know I will die before I see her grow up, although the circumstances around my death are unclear. But in all honesty, if she’ll be anything like you two when she’s four millennia old, I’d consider my death a relief.”_

_Mila gaped at her, and Duma carefully pulled at her arm as if to say ‘hey, let’s leave’._

_“I’m calling you immature”, Naga said simply. “And a disgrace to the Divine Dragon tribe. In case that was unclear. Now leave. We have far more important business to attend.”_

_Mila looked around the room. In her blind rage, she hadn’t noticed the little assembly of dragons watching her with varying degrees of surprise and contempt. Such looks weren’t unusual, since most dragons peered at her and Duma like they were freaks of nature. Two manakete born from the SAME ground? At the SAME TIME? As if that was somehow hers and Duma’s fault._

_Naga was usually more understanding toward them, but whatever this meeting meant, it wasn’t good on the Oracle’s temper._

_“In fairness, O Great Naga”, Bantu said, as if his age made him all the keener to come to the defense of the young ones. “Being born twins is a strange concept for us manakete, Divine or no, but we should be patient with them. Their sibling bond may chafe at what we formerly believed to be true about our nature, but consider the possibility when they grow alongside one another and learn to cooperate.”_

_“That will never happen”, Naga answered him, with all the sureness of a future teller. “Now, little Mila, will you leave like I asked you, or should we separate you on different sides of the continent again, just like we did when you were century-old babies?”_

_“O Great Naga”, Duma said and cleared his throat. “Don’t blame Mila. I’m sorry for bothering my sister. It won’t happen again.”_

_“It will”, Naga answered, and Mila’s chest fumed from the humiliation._

_This had been a mistake. She’d thought Naga would take her side, but asking anything from a future-seeing deity with a perchance for pettiness was bound to slap anyone in the face, including fellow Divine Dragons._

_“We have more important topics to discuss”, Medeus said from the corner, the white sheen from his wings casting reflections all over the grand hall as he stretched them from his chair. He fluffed a pillow and crossed his legs, his boots raining grime on the delicate silk._

_Naga rolled her eyes. “Put your feet down from the pillow, Medeus. That’s where heads go.”_

_“Not if you put feet on them”, Medeus argued. “The silk is from my island. I get to do what I want with it.”_

_Naga only sighed through her nose, and Mila watched them quietly. All dragons snapped childishly at each other, evidently—but the way she and Duma acted was less accepted and always would be. Their oddness would never work in their favor among this court._

_“Let’s get back to discussing the HUMANS”, Medeus continued with distaste. “I was about to tell you they’ve started to use fire. It’s quite concerning.”_

_Naga squinted. “And as I told you, if you have a problem with the natural cycle of things, then go back to your island, Medeus.”_

_“But they’re DISGUSTING”, Medeus went on. “Wingless, fangless, weird. What if they learn how to command magic? What if they learn to swim and come over to my island? What then?”_

_“You’re a hundred times larger than them and command boiling earth to your will”, Naga said tiredly. “They’re more afraid of you than you are disgusted by them.”_

_“Not to burst your bubble”, said Xane, the youngest of the Divine aside from Mila and Duma. “But I saw a human scale a cliff and then jump over a ravine, just to save an injured wolf. I don’t think they know fear.”_

_Medeus shook his head and gestured pointedly at Xane, eyes set on Naga._

_“They DO know compassion though, that’s for sure”, Xane finished, and flashed their teeth in a smile. “Case in point, about the wolf-thing. They’re not all bad.”_

_“No?” Medeus put his feet down and leaned forwards. “One of my earth dragons came too close to a clan of humans when he was out for a stroll here on the mainland, and they banged on him with clubs! He didn’t look like them, and so they tried to bash his brains out.” Medeus shrugged. “I mean, he transformed and split them open, but still. I don’t want them crawling around and being disrespectful on MY island.”_

_Naga eyed him carefully. “I’ll tell you this; they WILL spread over to Doluna eventually. Make of that what you will.”_

_Medeus grimaced. “If that is my inescapable fate, what if I just take a few with me home and teach them who the master is? Would you disagree, O Great Naga?”_

_Naga stared into the empty air, reading the time’s flow. Then she watched him calmly and smiled. “I would not.”_

_“But I disagree”, Mila surprised herself by saying. “I think the humans are cute. You shouldn’t be mean to them.”_

_Naga glanced over at her as to pointedly ask ‘why are you still here?’ but didn’t get to say anything before Duma opened his mouth too._

_“I mean, if you coddle them, they’ll never learn anything, they’ll just sit in their caves forever”, Duma said. “Medeus has a point.”_

_Medeus nodded. “The twin lad has a good mind. Teaching them submission is the only way.”_

_“Submission?” Duma frowned. “No, I meant it would be rewarding to see them fight to get stronger.”_

_“Your opinions don’t matter on this”, Naga sighed. “Just go back outside, and try to grow up. We’re discussing actual problems and we do not need the presence of nagging children.”_

_The hypocrisy hurt like a flame in Mila’s chest. The realization came to her just like it had so many times before—that she’d never be good enough for this court, despite her heritage. They would always glance at her sideways._

_And the vision came to her—not as strong as Naga’s, because no one could ever compare to her, but a vision still—that there were places were there was nothing but flourishing nature, and in a strange way, that vision called to her._

_“Sure, I’m leaving”, Mila said._

_“Good”, Naga said, but then her face twisted in surprise. The future had turned in a way she hadn’t expected, and that gave Mila a rush of satisfaction, and an even more intense wish to fulfill the impulse that had just shot into her head._

_“I will go somewhere my gifts are appreciated and where you don’t nag us all the time”, Mila continued. “I’ll swim to the other side of the world, if that’s what it takes!”_

_“The insolence!” Naga hissed. “The land of Archan is OUR land. You cannot leave it!”_

_“Watch me.”_

_“Yeah, me too”, Duma nodded. “I’ll go with her. And we’ll build an even better place than this!”_

_Mila’s chest warmed. As much as Duma was a bother, leaving him behind forever would have been a sad thing indeed. _

_And when they turned around, Naga didn’t stop her. Mila had just watched her stunned face shift into something that might be acceptance—whatever she’d seen in their future, she was fine with it, but thankfully she didn’t share. Mila didn’t want to know._

_No one else tried to stop them, either. Maybe they were relieved by being rid of them, but that was a mutual feeling on Mila’s end. She felt brave and powerful and full of joy as she and her brother soared down toward the western coast of Divine Dragon’s land._

_The ocean was cruel, but it was nothing two Divines couldn’t handle. It was like a nice field trip, and the two of them giggled with excitement even though they gulped saltwater as they did, which wasn’t dignified at all. But who cared! They were free of the confinement of Divine Dragon rules, free of the judging eyes._

_They were out in the open world, and once they reached a foreign coast, Mila let the seawater run down from her fingers and into the sand, creating lush grassland where she put her feet._

_And far down the coast, she spotted humans pointing their way. They had nothing for weapons except fishing sticks and did not seem aggressive. Just curious._

_Mila smiled. She was happy that there were humans here, too._

_“Let’s hope they welcome us”, Duma chuckled and rested his hands on his hips. “But if we share some of our magic, I’m sure they won’t mind us.”_

_“Yes”, Mila said with a nod. “I will be their earth.”_

_“And I will make them strong.” Duma put his arm around Mila with a smile. “Think you can handle having me around?”_

_“I think Naga had a point about having a continent divide us”, Mila said and rested her head on his shoulder. “We will fight. Don’t let this temporary peace fool you. I wouldn’t like for our disagreements to cause suffering for the humans here.”_

_“That’s wise”, Duma hummed and patted her back before they separated from their almost-hug. “It might be best if we stay out of each other’s way.”_

_“Yes”, Mila smiled. “You will not bother me, I will not bother you.”_

_“It’s gonna be great, sister!” Duma grinned. “We’re Divine manakete, with this whole continent to ourselves, and eternity to see eye to eye! We’ll prove Naga wrong one day, because our bodies and minds live forever.” _

_“I look forward to it”, Mila smiled, and with that, they went their separate ways, and Zofia and Rigel were born._

_It wasn’t the beginning of all things, but it was the beginning of Valentia, and was what mattered to them._

***

Celica was slow to wake up. Sometimes, returning to herself after a dream was difficult. There was talk of Eiviga’s line having the gift of visions due to Mila’s favor, but no one had been alive to tell Celica about that whole thing.

She remembered her brother Conrad telling her he’d dreamt about being trapped in fire. It hadn’t just been once, either. Maybe they had been visions of their bleak future. Not that those visions had helped him survive.

Celica felt a push on her shoulder, and she groaned.

“Celica!” Mae hissed. “Celica!! Hey, are you even alive?”

“Unf”, was all Celica could say to that. Her eyes stayed shut, her arms slack and exhausted—she didn’t feel as though she’d been sleeping much, even though she’d slept in the soft bed of Saintfloods’ inn.

Mae was at least satisfied with getting a sing of life and stopped shaking her. Instead she straightened the blankets over Celica and sat down on the edge of her bed.

“You’re sleeping through breakfast, you know. We have to leave in an hour if we want to make it to the temple before lunch. Shall I get you something?”

Celica managed to lift her arm, and put it down on Mae’s lap. “Stay, please”, she mumbled.

“Of course”, Mae said and patted her hand. “…you’re kind of hot. Are you sick? Did you eat something inappropriate?”

“No, it’s fine”, Celica said and sat up. Her eyes were still almost glued together, and the world outside was a bit too bright. “I just had a very vivid dream… and everything feels hazy. I can’t remember what about, exactly, but I think… I think Mila was there.”

“Well, sleepy-pants, if all goes well today, we’ll meet Mila for real.” Mae frowned a little, catching a strand of her hair and putting it behind her ear. “You’re gonna be a queen officially once Mila recognizes you as heir. Are you nervous at all?”

“Mostly tired”, Celica slurred and rested her head on Mae’s back. ”…Are _you _nervous? A lot of things will change.”

“Mm”, Mae hummed thoughtfully. “Nope. I’m great at changes! And I’ll have your back no matter what. That’s what best friends do!”

Celica smiled. Her chest was always warm when Mae was around, and life was brighter when she smiled.

“I’ll hold you to that”, Celica said. 

***

The temple of Mila was shone like a beacon before them when they’d left Saintfloods.

Unlike the castles or mansions of nobles and royalty, the temple was a thick spire drawn from a wide platform upheld by pillars. The size wasn’t what impressed Celica, but how it was like a larger version of the Novis priory. White marble was covered in ivy and at the top of the spire was a furnace to light and guide the way. Surrounding the temple itself was a garden that stretched on with pavilions and shrines and living quarters popping out of the ground like white fungi among the fruit trees and ancient oaks. Celica had heard it described by Nomah more than once, but it was magnificent to see with her own eyes.

Although, because of those stories, she couldn’t help but think that something was wrong. Mila’s warmth was as distant here as it had been in the middle of Grieth’s desert, even though the light of the furnace at the top o the spire burned bright.

Irma, who had followed them on her way to this place she called home, was clearly of the same mind.

“Call down the pegasi, Your Highness”, Irma said as they got closer to the gardens. “Something isn’t right.”

With a quick shout into the sky, Celica assembled their group into a tightly knit cluster of people and pegasi. She let Irma stumble into the outskirts of the gardens first, listening to the silence that followed every time Irma called a name.

Celica’s heart thrummed in her chest. She felt Mae’s hand hug hers for a moment, and she breathed as deeply as she could, trying to look in control. But the creeping sense of dread wouldn’t leave her. Mila’s very abode wasn’t supposed to be this desolate.

They walked deeper, and was nearly by the base of the temple when the whinny of a Pegasus stopped Celica in her tracks.

“Movement ahead”, Palla’s voice rang through the tense silence. “Atop the marble stairs.”

Celica snapped her eyes to the stairs leading toward the higher grounds of the gardens, and there was indeed a cloaked man sliding across the floor. Surrounded by sculptures of Mila in both her shapes, he looked eerie and out of place. It was not one of Her servants, that was for certain.

“Fiend”, Irma called. “What have you done to my friends?”

The robed figure stopped at the top of the stairs and raised his hands, and Celica went completely cold at his calm smile. His skin looked crackled and grey in the daylight.

“Now, now”, the man on the stairs said. “I’m afraid good Mila isn’t taking visitors at this time. There have been a few… complications, but my people are handling it. I suggest you turn around.”

“You are no priest of ours”, Irma fumed.

“That’s right, I’m not. I have my orders, though, and I will uphold them.” The robed man raised his hand to his forehead and swept it in an arc before them. “Turn around, and may Duma’s blessings be upon you as you walk.”

Celica’s mind blanked. No, this couldn’t be true.

She should fight. She should speak.

“You should be the one to turn around”, Boey called up to the Duma priest, fire in his palm. “This breach is _insurmountable_.”

“What he said”, Mae shouted. “You’re the one who cantored terrors to keep us out, huh?”

“Sure looks like him”, Catria chimed in, pulling at the reins of her Pegasus and freeing a javelin from her back. “Should I pin him?”

“No”, Celica said breathlessly. “No, wait—surely, a priest of Duma wouldn’t be here without _reason_? Tell us, and we will not have to spill blood here today.”

“I dunno”, Mae hissed. “Mila’s laws are Mila’s laws. I’d love to zap him.”

Celica drew a deep breath and began her ascent up the stairs, her gaze fixed. Darkness swirled in her belly, but she wasn’t afraid. She stopped when she was halfway up, and more at a speaking distance _without_ being in stabbing distance.

“It is within my right to show you mercy”, Celica said. “I alone hold Mila’s favor, as princess of this realm, and I _demand_ to see her right now.”

“Yes, I’ve understood that Zofia has a princess”, the priest shrugged at her. “That changes nothing, I’m afraid. Mila will not see anyone. Not even you.”

“Where are the priestesses?” Celica asked coldly.

“In the spire”, the priest answered. “No one is harmed. I did not come here to make trouble, only to help. Nothing is out of the ordinary.”

“Don’t believe a word he says, princess”, Sonya called from below, and when Celica glanced over her shoulder, Sonya was on her way up the stairs to join her. Celica tried to shake her head as a signal for Sonya to stop, but the mage looked right past her, gaze fixed on the man above.

Mae grabbed Sonya’s sleeve, hissing a ‘_what are you doing?_’, but Sonya tore free without looking.

“He’s a _witchmaker_”, she said, which rang as something terrible and reprehensible, but didn’t mean anything to Celica.

The man on the stairs let his hood down, where his eyes gleamed the same way they said Mila’s did, but a bright blue instead of green.

“If it isn’t Sonya”, he chuckled to himself. “Oh, your father misses you so. He’ll be happy to know you’re still alive and available.”

“May Duma curse every meal you eat, Actur”, Sonya spat back at him. “If you touch any of these people, I’ll fry your tongue before I let you die.”

Celica’s first instinct was to be angry that her orders for the others to stay back had been ignored. Her second instinct was to be afraid, because the truth about their new mage was something she’d almost known from the moment she’d laid eyes on Sonya but hadn’t wanted to acknowledge. Her pointed and powerful magic style, her opting out of prayers to Mila—it should have been obvious.

“A Rigelian mage protecting a Zofian princess and her pack? What ridiculous lows you’ve yielded to, Sonya.”

“Did you not just claim to defend Mila?” Sonya snapped. “Stop it with your lies, Actur. Step aside. You’re outnumbered.”

“So you think.” Actur narrowed his eyes, and before Celica could blink, people fell from the sky like violet droplets of rain. People who straightened their backs and stared down the stairs without a single sound.

Celica held her breath. They looked _wrong_. Their eyes gleamed with a beautiful, otherworldly power, their faces empty of emotion. The sight of them made Celica want to back down and curl up in a corner, hidden away from this horror.

Sonya had not moved a muscle, aside from a slow nod. “Keep talking, princess”, she said under her breath. “This idiot will show his cards as soon as you push him.”

Celica couldn’t fathom she had anything to say except wordless screams. The empty people nailed her with their gazes, it was all she could think of to slowly signal with her hand to her friends at the bottom of the stairs to stay put. She did not want to engage with this before she understood what was going on.

“My witches will not hurt you for as long as you cooperate”, Actur said. “Now step aside and turn back. Duma’s business here has nothing to do with you.”

“The witches aren’t _yours_”, Sonya fumed. “And the only one who’s stepping aside is you!”

Celica hated being in the dark like this. All her life she’d been so closed off from Rigel and Duma as she was _meant _to be—and this was Mila’s ground, this was _her _kingdom, yet there were creatures that stared at her with inhuman eyes from all directions.

“You’re hiding something”, Celica called up the stairs, clenching her fists. “You don’t want _me _here, is that it?”

“Yes, princess”, Actur said with a twitch of his fingers. “It’s true that we’ve been trying to deter you.”

“Then why would your people try to take me away at Zofia Castle?”

“That’d be Agravan”, Actur said with a quiet sigh. “He had his own ideas how to get you to stay away from here, which didn’t work in his favor. Evidently. Just go back, princess. You can be of great help to us one day, but not here and not now. It’s time to stop this quest of yours.”

“Why?” Celica breathed. “Why would you want to deter me?”

“Because Mila isn’t here”, Irma shouted from below the stairs, and Celica glanced up the spire, where the tiny face of a Mila priestess peeked down on them with an expression of grief. “And they’re trying to cover that up.”

“Zofians have the brains of children spoiled rotten”, the Duma priest sighed. “Took you long enough. Not that it matters. The time will come when even you can help us spread Duma’s radiance to all corners of the world, but you need to stand down until that day comes.”

Celica could barely think straight. It was true, Mila couldn’t be here, and by the sounds of it, _Duma_ had given the order. This wasn’t right, wasn’t _right_—

“You _kidnapped _Mila?” Mae shouted, and for once, Boey was as angry as her.

“That’s why everything got worse once the king died!” Boey sounded like he was shaking like a leaf in the wind, and the flickering light of fire reflected on the stairs in front of Celica. “It wasn’t about losing Mila’s favored one—Rigel used his assassination as a distraction. Mila hasn’t been here for almost a year, _right_?”

“A clever one”, the Duma priest huffed. “It hasn’t exactly been a _fun _charade to play, I’ll have you know. Time to end it.” With that, he plunged toward Celica with his hands outstretched, with warping magic pulling at his body in the air. Wherever he was going, he intended to take her with him.

“Get down, Celica!” Mae plunged into her back, and they tumbled into the hard marble stairs together. The priest warped away, alone. Celica perked her head up immediately, trying to spot him among the lavish trees, but he was gone. All that remained was a garden full of witches.

“Nice going, pink priestess”, Sonya commended Mae and walked up the stairs, still calm as though the dozens of monstrous eyes glaring at her didn’t frighten her in the slightest. “Actur is a coward. He won’t be doing any of the fighting himself, so now it is only for us to deal with the witches he left us.”

Celica’s nose throbbed, but other than that she wasn’t hurting much.

“What are they?” she stammered.

“Husks”, Sonya answered and returned the glares she received. “The higher-ups in Duma’s church dabble in soul magic, and when they create witches, they take all that person is and merges their spirits with Duma himself. The space that is left is filled by Duma’s raw power, and a witch is born. An exchange of sorts.”

“That’s why their eyes glow like dragons!” Est gasped, her lance out and ready. “That makes sense!”

“But they’re still people?” Mae asked and heaved herself up on her elbows.

“A few of them keep one or two memories of themselves”, Sonya said bitterly. “Most don’t. Get up to standing, you two. They’ll probably attack us any moment now, and I’d hate to risk a scar on my face.”

“Must we fight them?” That voice belonged to Genny, who half-hid behind Est’s Pegasus. “Can’t we just, uhm, negotiate?”

“I wish, dear one.” Sonya took the rest of the steps up the stairs to the garden platform, and immediately, the witches got into defensive positions and sparked magic around themselves. “Seems like they’ve got their orders to keep everyone out. Which means they probably keep those poor Mila people up there _in_.”

“Duma… sees you”, one of the witches moaned. “Duma… blesses all…Go to him… there will be…no more pain…”

“Shut up”, Sonya said coldly. “You’re going to make me frown, and that’s bad for my skin. Princess—ready yourself for battle. Witches are powerful mages, but they die just like everyone else!”

Celica quickly tied her hair back with one hand and looked over her shoulder. Her heart still drummed loudly in her chest, but she’d fight to defend this holy ground and free her fellow Faithful even if the world didn’t make much sense.

“All right, everyone!” Celica called to those behind her. “You heard Sonya! Those of you without magic resistance, stay back! The rest of you, come with me!”

“Are you sure we can trust a Rigelian?” Mae whispered through her teeth, and Celica only shook her head.

“It’s our best chance”, Celica answered and drew her sword. “We’ll purge Mila’s home free from these abominations, and ask questions later!”

***

The beautiful garden did not look the same once Celica rested her hand on her knees. The statues were marked by soot and rose bushes were crushed beneath the bodies of witches whose eyes still held an unnatural glow, even in death.

Sonya walked among the fallen, bringing their eyelids down and placing their hands on their chests. “May Duma witness your bravery”, Celica heard Sonya mumble once or twice – similar to ‘_may Mila grant you a peaceful rest_’, a prayer with no less love and solidarity. Celica realized they meant the same thing.

Celica felt an urge to perform the death vigils she knew, since paying respects to the dead had been part of her duty for half her lifetime—but speaking of Mila’s blessings upon these people felt disrespectful. They were Rigelians, or they had been, once. It wasn’t fair of Celica to pretend like she understood what that meant, so she let Sonya crouch beside each of them without disturbing her. Hundreds of questions boiled in her mind, but she stayed still and silent.

Genny didn’t, to Celica’s surprise. She crouched down opposite Sonya, hands trembling, clearing her throat slightly.

“You’re… uhm, you’re grieving them for the people they used to be?” Genny was otherwise terrified of the woman, so to see her interact of her own free will was remarkable.

“Precisely, sweet one”, Sonya said with a surprised look on her. “They needed to die to be free, but if they hadn’t been made in the first place…they could have lived.”

“I was just… I was just thinking…” Genny hugged her staff to her chest, determined to get her words across (and Sonya waited patiently for her to). ”…If they’re created by magic, isn’t there a way to reverse the spell instead?”

Sonya clasped her hands and shook her head. “Oh, dear child. I appreciate what you’re implying. However, soul magic is a complex, dangerous thing, and you don’t know what you speak of.”

“But you obviously do”, Boey butted in, brushing dust from the back of his hands. “Time to answer for yourself, Rigelian. We’ve desecrated this holy place enough for a millennia, but if you’re withholding anything, I will not hesitate to fight you, too.”

“Oh, Boey”, Mae whistled quietly and clutched her chest. “You took the words right out of my mouth.”

Sonya straightened and evened the wrinkles on her robes. “Your hostility is a bit much, but I get it. I _am_ a child of Duma, after all. Or I _was_—it depends on how you look on the concept of exile.”

“You must have done something really bad to be exiled from _Rigel_”, Mae scoffed.

“Oh yes, a most terrible thing”, Sonya smiled calmly at her and gestured at one of the witches on the ground. “I refused to let them make me like _them_. Awful, awful Sonya.”

Mae paled a little and didn’t say anything else. More curious eyes were turned their way, the Pegasus sisters with their hair frizzled by magic and Saber cleaning his dagger, but they all kept their distance and Celica appreciated being given space to think.

Genny kept her eyes thoughtfully on the ground, and then she dared a quick glance on Sonya again.

“That doesn’t make you awful”, Genny finally said. 

“Thank you, dear child”, Sonya smiled at her, then turned her face to Celica. There was a steely edge to her gaze, even when she looked so at ease. Her calm seemed so unnatural considering the circumstances, but perhaps that was just one of Duma’s many blessings on his people—courage and willpower.

“You said you had quarrels with some of the higher-ups in the Church of Duma”, Celica stated. “Was this why?”

“Oh yes, my quarrels are with the church as a whole, but my _hatred_ is for my father.” Sonya’s voice was full of bile. “The greatest witchmaker Rigel has ever known. Why not sacrifice a daughter or two for the sake of it? There’s no greater honor!”

Sonya huffed and shook her head, throwing her hair over her shoulder. “Soul magic has corrupted almost the entire church and I will not stand for it. I wasn’t alone in disliking it, but gullible mages were manipulated into witches, foolhardy mages fought them and lost—I decided I would take neither of those options. I ventured into Zofia in search of something that could help me find a way to end their practices. Worry not, princess, you remain a valuable ally for me in my cause.”

Celica nodded at her. Setting out from Novis she’d never expected to welcome a Rigelian into her circles, but she supposed she already had welcomed Sonya—who had had plenty of opportunities to harm them, should she have wanted to. And it was thanks to her that they hadn’t suffered any losses or injuries fighting an unknown enemy. Celica could only imagine what kind of chaos would erupt if the witches had descended upon her without warning. Which must have been the fate the Mila Faithful at the temple had faced.

The doors to the main temple opened carefully, and a few priests and priestesses of Mila dared to take a glance outside.

“He’s gone?”

“Oh, Irma, you’re all right!”

“The witches! They’re dead!”

Irma walked briskly up to meet them and greeted the first priestess who dared step outside the doors with a big hug.

“Oh, Talia, I’m so glad you’re all right”, Irma cried. “I cannot believe you’d have to face such hardships, too!”

Talia looked old, her hair grey with a few brown streaks left, brown skin and kind eyes—Celica noticed how the Pegasus sisters stiffened at the sight of her. They exchanged glances and regarded the priestess like she was a walking ghost.

“Irma”, another priestess said with a hand on Irma’s shoulder. “It’s so good to see you’re alive—we didn’t dare hope when you didn’t return from your pilgrimage—we thought it must have been pirates who took you away!”

“As if pirates could stand a chance—Irma brought warrior priestesses and defeated our foul jailer”, a third said. “And pegasi too! Witches and pirates are both small potatoes in comparison!”

Talia had looked up and met the gazes of the Pegasus sisters, her own face growing pale as though she too was seeing ghosts. Celica watched her slip away quietly and hopped over to the Archaneans on a crooked cane, beginning a separate, hushed conversation.

Celica frowned, but she thought it best not to pry. Not yet. There was still so much she did not understand about the present, and she’d better be humble about it and pick her battles.

What she _did _know was that for whatever reason, the Duma Faithful had taken Mila from her home. Mila had been gone for nearly a year, without anyone noticing. The Mila Faithful must have been forced to keep the furnace going and keep a brave face whenever outsiders came too close—the rest of Zofia none the wiser.

A chill lingered in Celica’s chest. She was the only one left holding the favor of her goddess, and thus it was her responsibility to set all of this to rights. She would take Mila back, no matter what it took.

As though reading her mind, the fuss around the Mila servants had quieted down, and Irma turned her head to Celica.

“That’s her”, a priest whispered.

“She looks so much like her mother”, another said, before Irma hushed them and turned around fully.

“This is a joyous day”, Irma said, her voice echoing over the gardens where the corpses of witches took some of the air out of her words. “My friends, before us stands none other than Princess Anthiese! Eiviga’s heir! One of Mila’s blessed line! She’s the liberator of the east, the gift from Novis, and Zofia’s hope. She came here to be bestowed the duties as queen, and with or without Mila, we can still perform the rites and place the Zofian crown upon her brow!”

Celica had come here for that purpose, that was true—but Mila wasn’t there to make it official. The temple of Mila was where the ceremony of crowns always was held, and where the mystical power in her veins could be fully unleashed. If she was to bring Mila home, she dearly needed that power. Maybe it wouldn’t be _as _powerful without Mila there to finalize her blessing, but Celica would still take anything she could.

On the side of their group, Talia wiped her eyes. Something told Celica she wasn’t moved by the thought of the ceremony, but something else entirely.

Est patted her gently on the shoulder. “She’s fine”, Celica heard her say. “She misses you still, but she’s fine.”

“My Maria’s fine”, Talia repeated. “Thank you…”

Celica’s attention darted back to the Mila Faithful before her as Irma gently grasped her wrist.

“Come”, Irma said, and two priests excitedly opened the doors wide. “Anthiese, you’ve already proven your heart to be true and your tie to Mila is stronger than in generations. None could be more deserving of this honor than you!”

Celica hesitated for a moment, but then she began her ascension. Sonya and Genny followed, but Irma held up a hand at that.

“Technically, _you _are not allowed in here.” Her finger pointed at Sonya, and Celica’s heart sank in her chest. That was true, but it didn’t feel fair. Sonya had liberated this place just as much as the rest of them—and Celica _wanted _her there.

“The Divine Accords have already been breached to oblivion”, Celica attempted. “Surely, we can make an exception.”

Irma shook her head. “I do not want to risk the ritual, my lady Anthiese. These grounds have been sullied enough by Duma’s influence.”

“In that case, I’ll stay with her!” Genny volunteered, raising a trembling hand.

Sonya raised her brows and glanced down on Genny. “Whatever for, dear?”

Genny looked as though she contemplated the same question, shrinking and curling inwards. “Uhm… I wouldn’t want to be lonely out here, so I thought…you didn’t want to, either.”

Sonya smiled, and it was the most genuine Celica had ever seen her. “Oh, sweet one. That’s very kind of you, but do not worry yourself. Go with your friends and enjoy the ritual! Besides, someone’s got to stand out here and make sure the witchmaker doesn’t return, isn’t that so?”

Celica gave her a grateful look, and Sonya merely smirked and shrugged. But it looked too much like a façade—as Celica walked through the gate, the gardens emptied from all laughter and life, and Sonya was left standing in the shadow of the temple surrounded by death and eerie decay.

Sonya was everything Rigel was supposed to be, strong and intimidating, but there was kindness in her every movement, too. She sat down on the stairs and adjusted the ruined tunic of one of the witches as though she didn’t want them to freeze.

Something small changed within Celica at the sight. She wanted justice for Zofia, but she hated that she typically would not be able to want justice for Rigel, too. Among Celica’s friends were people of all kinds of cultures and goals, and they all worked alongside her to fix what had been broken. What did borders matter when their hearts were united?

The sunlight flickered as the gates to Mila’s temple thrummed shut, and at that moment Celica quietly swore that she’d fight not only for Zofia, but for _all_ of Valentia.

***

Celica was not smiling as the dented, ancient crown of Mila’s chosen was lowered toward her head. The one that had belonged to her father had been a newer, polished version—after all, the silver and emerald of Eiviga’s first crown didn’t fit the image of greed and power her father had desired. King Lima had made one of gold and diamonds, one that Desaix wore in his place. A useless memento compared to the true crown.

Celica felt the metal touch her hairline, and she was filled with a tint of warmth, the feeling of being carried home by a gentle mother, and her ears rang as a vision flashed before her eyes.

-

_“You did it, Eiviga”, Mila smiled at her first blessed human. “You united them. My dream of one Zofia is finally fulfilled.”_

_Eiviga looked out over the foresty kingdom. There were no proper roads, and her castle was just one floor of polished stone atop a hill in the center of wooden houses, but it was calm and quiet. And of this land, she was queen._

_“As we agreed, I shall not rule by your side”, Mila continued. She was no longer the angry teen that had left Archanea, she had grown into a mature, gentle lady with hair the color and shape of wild vines. “Human business is human business, and I should retreat to a place where you can easily seek me out while I’m still not being in the way.”_

_“Are you certain they will listen to me without you here?”_

_Mila’s smile was radiant. “Oh yes. There is none I’d rather trust with the task, but if my distance from you worries you… Lend me your forehead, please.”_

_Eiviga leaned forward and let Mila cup her face, and the Divine pressed her lips against her scalp. Eiviga felt a sharp gust of wind within her, and the power of growth, of sight and endless generosity…_

_She clasped her forehead as soon as Mila let her go, and then stared into the polished stone that reflected her image back at her._

_On her brow was the shine of Mila’s own emblem, and it pulsated with the beat of her heart._

_“There’s draconic magic in your blood, my dear”, Mila said. “Naga would call me a fool for trusting a human of this magnitude, but I do trust you, Eiviga. You and your heirs will all hold my favor, now and forever.”_

-

Celica gasped. She was Eiviga, and Anthiese, and Celica—all of it a soup of conflicting visions before her mind finally settled.

The crown was on her head, and magic pulsated with every beat of her heart.

“Mila”, she whispered into the air, warmth spreading out of her chest. She felt her power surge within, although she didn’t know what that power was, she felt stronger. Clearer. Whole.

“Hail, queen Anthiese!” Irma called, and Celica nearly jolted backward at the sound.

_Queen_. Her fate had been sealed, but Mila was not there to announce this change, and Celica felt hesitant despite the strange surges within her chest. Would the Zofians look to her with the same hope that the Mila Faithful did, or would they look to _Alm_?

She hadn’t trusted Alm enough to tell him of her heritage, and perhaps that had been wise—but now she worried that he might turn his army against her. He had seemed keen on the idea of the Zofian throne being his—though perhaps in the same way he had been keen on taking turns with Faye and Celica on deciding what games to play. He took over sometimes, but he knew how to step aside—at least he _had _known, but then again, eleven years could change many things.

She shouldn’t think about Alm. He could have been lost to the war for all she knew, defeated by Desaix’ army—but she felt strangely sure it wasn’t so. He had to be alive, and his claim to the throne would arguably be the same as Celica’s to some. He led a literal army, he’d liberated central Zofia—maybe he’d turn his sword against her one day, too.

The surges of power in her chest hummed quietly at the thought. _Let him try. Let him try._

She stepped down from the podium and bowed to the onlookers. The empty seat where Mila would have smiled at her was like a gaping hole in the procedure, and the whole thing felt like a dull pretence compared to what she’d expected—but it was nonetheless real.

She was queen. She would act like one.

“I promised my friends I would make Zofia’s struggles into nothing but a bad memory”, Celica said, her head held high. “That promise stands, but I need more time. What the Duma Faithful have done…they shall answer for. I shall make sure Mila return to us.”

“Yer not in it alone, lass”, Saber objected, which had some of the Mila Faithful glare at him for disrupting order.

Celica smiled. “Indeed, I am not. I need all of your help. Please, my siblings of faith, let us not linger on festivities. Would you instead tell us what you’ve seen before Mila’s disappearance?”

***

The night air was cold, but Celica did not care. She had chosen to spend council with her friends and allies, and so she would, even if that meant sleeping out on the bare ground around a weak campfire. The Mila Faithful fussed about it, but Celica would not budge. Sonya did not have their privileges, and Rigelian or no, Celica had made up her mind about what she wanted.

_Justice for all of Valentia._ She didn’t really speak that aloud, because their conversations were busy by other topics.

“So we got one priest insisting he saw the _Rigelian Emperor _himself threaten Mila out of her temple with the Falchion”, Boey summarized, and Est’s hand shot up.

“So like, _the _Falchion?” Est asked. “You’re still sure about that?” 

“What other Falchion would there be?” Boey frowned. “Besides, weren’t you three going home?”

Est looked a bit taken aback and glanced over on Palla.

“It’s evening”, Palla answered. “And if that Duma sorcerer returns, you’ll want us here. We’ve killed platoons of mages in the past.”

That chilled the air even further, and Celica cleared her throat. “It’s nice to have you with us, to be sure. And feel free to speculate on Mila’s location as well—sometimes a pair of eyes from the outside can really help.”

“Yeah, because the inside ones seem to be a bit whacky”, Mae said with a glare toward the temple. “Having an emperor running around and threatening Divine Dragons doesn’t sound likely. I’m more ready to believe that the Duma priests just whisked her away because they wanted Rigel to have her blessings instead, which is just _selfish _and _bad _and—”

“We were doing fine without her”, Sonya interrupted icily. “At least on the food-front. We don’t roast everything in honey, but we get by. I’m inclined to believe that the Duma Church indeed took her, but for far more nefarious reasons. Their obsession with soul magic was getting out of hand when I left Rigel, and if they don’t value human life, why would they value that of a Divine Dragon?”

Celica’s chest felt tight. “They’d kill her?”

What would the world become if there was no Mila to keep them alive? She dreaded the thought.

“Maybe worse”, Sonya said, which didn’t calm the rest of them down in the least.

“I say we march straight into Rigel!” Mae shouted to that. “They don’t care for the Divine Accords, so why should we?”

“We still don’t know _where _she is”, Celica said pointedly. “If we’re to save her, we need a plan. Some inside information, if there’s any available.”

She looked pointedly to Sonya, who raised a hand carefully.

“I wish there were”, she answered. “But this would be something only the higher-ups knew about. I could _guess_ that they’re holding her in Duma’s tower, but they might as well have her by the volcano in the west or in the palace for all I know—but if there’s anyone with the answers, I might know someone. I wasn’t the only one to break free from the church. There is a former friend of my father, a sage named Halcyon that dedicated himself to blocking out the eastern Rigelian border with a powerful illusion spell over a forest. He’s been making sure the Duma Faithful that wanted to get into Zofia had to go about it some other way.”

“Why didn’t he just attack the bad ones?” Genny asked.

“Same reasons I didn’t, sweet one”, Sonya said bitterly. “They’re awfully powerful, and much too many. Actur was alone and still summoned that many witches. Imagine what they’d do with dozens like him.”

“Sounds like the illusion sage is our best bet”, Boey said and glanced on Celica for approval. Celica sighed and nodded.

“To Rigel we go”, she said. “And let’s hope we don’t run into some of the bad Faithfuls the first thing we do.”


End file.
